Life With Dean
by SciFiNutTX
Summary: AU: John never had an older son named Dean, but maybe he needed one. Maybe he wasn't the only one who needed a Dean, either. CH27 Up
1. Ch1:The Meeting

**Life With Dean**

AU: John never had an older son named Dean, but maybe he needed one. This AU will go through _Hellhouse_, but nothing has been written beyond that so far.

Thanks to the many betas on this, _**LaceyM **_for shoving me in the right direction, _**charis-kalos**_ for her mad editing skills (you rock!), and to **_Kanarah J _**for preventing me from being too repetitive and keeping Sam from becoming a girly-man (I and the Sam-girls thank you for that). I hope I didn't forget anyone!!

**Warning**: If Wincest is your thing, you won't find it here.

**Chapter One: The Meeting**

Jerry hunched over the engine he was working on, trying to concentrate. He was distracted by the burly man with a cherry '67 Impala talking to his boss. Usually people like that worked on their own cars, but Jerry hoped the guy could use an oil change or something. After what felt like endless minutes, his boss waved him over.

Trying not to look desperate, Jerry moved away from the piece-o-crap he had been attempting to fit a mismatched carburetor on for an idiot customer toward his boss and the burly man. Jerry was about six-foot-one and this guy had an inch or two on him, kind of scraggly dark beard flecked with some early gray, and messy dark hair. He had this presence, though, and when the guy smiled his boss introduced them.

"John Winchester," the burly man said, taking Jerry's hand in a firm handshake.

"Jerry," he replied simply, not bothering to use his meaningless legal last name. "What can I do for you?"

"Mister Winchester needs a tune-up, but he wants to watch while you do it. Okay?" His boss chewed on the end of a disposable ballpoint, nervous habit since his wife made him quit smoking.

Jerry grinned. He was getting his hands on that Impala after all. Jerry motioned to his bay for the guy – Winchester – to drive it in. As he worked, Winchester started talking. At first it was pretty innocent stuff, like how long Jerry'd lived here and if he followed the local ball clubs, stuff like that. After he finished changing the oil and moved on to the spark plugs, Winchester shifted gears. He started asking all kinds of personal questions about stuff that happened when he was a kid.

"You know," Jerry said, putting on the last plug wire, "usually when someone gets this personal I at least get dinner." He glared at Winchester.

At first he thought the man was going to get angry with him, but instead Winchester grinned, like he expected that comment. "No problem. What time do you get off?"

Jerry squinted at him, wondering how the hell that went so wrong. "Dude, no offense, but I really don't swing that way."

Winchester laughed. "Me either. But there's some information I need and I think you have it, whether you know it or not." When Jerry just kept staring, Winchester added, "And if I make a move on you, you can shoot me. Okay?"

Jerry shrugged, returning his attention to the car. It was sweet, he had to admit. Too bad such a creep drove it.

"Mind taking it for a spin?" Winchester asked, tossing him the keys. "Make sure everything sounds good?" He grinned again and Jerry felt himself caving.

He took the keys and started it up. It started a little rough, but that sounded more like the carb needed adjusting. Not too bad, really. Jerry pulled out carefully, because the guy could still see him. Once he was out on the road, however, he opened her up. Oh yeah! The timing might be slightly off, too, but nothing that couldn't be fixed. He made sure to take a cool down lap before taking it back in, just to be sure that guy wouldn't be too suspicious.

"Timing is a little off, and your carburetor needs adjusted," he said, tossing the keys back.

Winchester frowned. "Really? I didn't notice."

Jerry shrugged. "Most people don't in their daily drives. Starts to get off and they just get used to it."

Winchester caught his eye. "I also don't tend to race it." Jerry stared back, unflinching. Winchester grinned again, like they shared a secret or something. "See ya after work." He waved as he drove off.

Jerry had the distinct feeling he had a date after work, and it creeped him out. He dragged out his last job of the day as long as he could, trying to postpone the inevitable. There was that hope Winchester would either give up on him or forget, but somehow he doubted it, especially when he finally came out and found the shiny black Impala waiting out front.

Shaking his head, Jerry approached the car. "Man, I told you, I don't swing that way."

Winchester glared at him, no hint of any of the earlier mirth or good humor. "When you were about five, your parents took you camping; family vacation. Ten people died that week and you were the only survivor." The motor turned over. "I want to hear your side, and I don't care how crazy it sounds."

Jerry stared at the man in the black car, all conscious thought frozen in the light of the words assaulting his ears. He slid into the passenger seat, stared out the front windshield. Giving the man a short nod while taking care not to look directly at Winchester, Jerry pulled the door closed.

They drove in relative silence, only the hum of the big Chevy motor filling the void, until Winchester pulled into a restaurant parking lot. "You okay, kid?" he asked, one arm dangling across the steering wheel.

Jerry shook himself from his stupor. "Uh, yeah. I guess." He forced a small grin. "It's just when you expect everyone to be after your body, and then you find out it's your past, it's kind of unnerving." He shook his head.

Winchester barked a short laugh. "Kid, you're something else. Come on, let me buy you a beer."

Jerry looked down at himself. His clothes were covered in oil and grease and he could smell the stale sweat. "I usually clean up first."

"What for? It's not like you're on a date." Winchester hopped out of the car. With a shrug Jerry followed, hoping all the waitresses were homely tonight because he would not be making a good impression.

After taking a booth in the far corner and receiving their beers, Winchester tapped the table. "So, You wanna tell me about it?"

Jerry shook his head. "Not particularly."

"Come on, kid." He blew out a sigh. "I'm even buying you dinner."

"I have a name, and it isn't kid," Jerry said, setting his beer back down. "It's Jerry, think you can remember that?"

Winchester shook his head. "Fine. Jerry. Please tell me what happened."

He concentrated on the black gunk around his thumbnail. "We were camping." Jerry took a deep breath. "A noise woke me up, like wind outside the tent." He scraped at the black gunk on his nail.

"But it wasn't wind, was it?" Winchester's voice was softer now, like they were sharing a secret.

Jerry shook his head. "It came right through the side of the tent. At first I thought it was a bear, because my dad told me all about bears before we went. It, ah, ripped our tent." That black gunk was tough. He used more pressure, desperately scraping at it with an uneven nail.

"Your parents?" Winchester asked and he sounded almost sympathetic.

Jerry shook his head. "I don't remember. I'm pretty sure it got them."

"How did you get away?" Winchester asked, breathless.

Jerry looked up, meeting Winchester's eyes for the first time since approaching the car after work. "I didn't."

Winchester frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jerry looked around, unsure why he was doing this. No one seemed to be looking their way. He unbuttoned his shirt to expose his left shoulder. Thick scars crossed his chest, but were most prominent on his shoulder. Movement from the corner of his eye made him yank his shirt back in place. As the waitress brought their order, he buttoned his shirt.

"I see what you mean," Winchester motioned with his fork over his rather thin steak. "How did you survive? I mean, you were the only one."

Jerry shook his head. "No idea. I woke up in a hospital all by myself."

Winchester reached down, plunked a file Jerry hadn't noticed on the table. "According to the papers, and a couple who stopped to check on a boy by the roadside, you walked at least four miles trying to find help." He flipped the folder open, pointed out a computer printed article. "I already interviewed the couple. It checks out." A thin grin snaked across Winchester's face. "You're really something, kid."

They ate in silence. When he finished, Winchester shoved his plate away. "Ever think about going after the thing that killed them?"

"What?" Jerry looked up again. He had been trying to remember walking from the campsite, but it was all a blank. "What do you mean?"

Winchester threw some bills down on the table. "It's called a Wendigo. They start out as human, more or less, then they acquire a taste for cannibalism. It gives them strength, speed, cunning, damn near perfect hunters. Only way to kill them is with fire."

One side of Jerry's mouth drew up. "Sounds like what the flare gun was made for."

"Now that's an idea." Winchester chuckled again. "So what do you say? Want to go?"

"Seriously?" Jerry leaned back, his burger only half eaten. "You're some kind of nutcase, aren't you?"

The man just grinned. "What does that make you? The guy flashing his shoulder at nutcases?" He shrugged. "Besides, I thought you might want to take a crack at getting the Impala running, you know, just right."

"I do have some vacation time saved up," Jerry mused. "When you planning to leave?"

"When can you go?"


	2. Ch2:On The Road

**Chapter Two: On The Road**

Wendigo hunting was not nearly as much fun as it sounded, and it sounded just stupid. Jerry stumbled into their motel room. John had checked them in as father and son so they had separate beds. At least the guy hadn't turned out to be some kind of pervert after all. John practically carried him to the bed.

"Easy, son, easy. Just let me take a look at it." John cut away his shirt and jacket.

"Damn it," he muttered.

"Am I hurting you?" John asked, freezing.

"Nah. Just really liked that jacket." Jerry shook his head sadly.

John chuckled. "You know, son, you're starting to grow on me. Tell you what, next credit card I get, I'll buy you a new jacket. How's that sound?" He peeled back the fabric, hissing through his teeth.

"You just get credit cards often?" Jerry asked, anticipating the sting as John applied alcohol directly onto his wounds. John poured it on as Jerry gritted his teeth. He had a really high pain tolerance, probably because he had already felt so much worse.

"Well, this job isn't a paying gig, son. Sometimes there are things I gotta do, that aren't exactly legal, to get by." He used towels from the bathroom to clean him up, finally settling down to closing up those nasty gashes. "How about next time I put two names down? Harold and his doting son, Oliver?"

Jerry forced a chuckle through clenched teeth. When John finally finished and got the bleeding stopped, or at least contained, he allowed himself to relax into the bed.

"Uh-uh," John admonished. "You're sleeping on the clean bed. Come on." He lifted Jerry like a child, moving him the three feet to the other bed.

"Damn, you're strong," Jerry muttered as exhaustion tugged at his eyelids. "Doting son, huh? So what do I call you? Pops?"

"Try Dad." The words filtered through the blackness that overcame him, driving him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Jerry woke daylight streamed into the crappy motel room, striking the far wall. He could not even guess if it was morning or afternoon. The clock by his beside said it was six, but not am or pm, so he was still lost. The door opened. Jerry would have liked to leap to his feet, but he'd like to have wings and fly, too.

"Hey, sleepyhead! You're awake. I was starting to think I'd have to entertain myself all evening. Here, catch." John tossed something his way. Jerry plucked it out of the air.

"Cards?" he asked, turning it over in his hands.

"Yep. Sounded like more fun than checkers." John motioned to him. "You're going to need to rest up for a while. That Wendigo got you pretty good."

"Why, uh, didn't you just take me to the hospital?" Jerry asked, attempting to sit up.

John crossed the room, shoved him back down. "Couldn't. Didn't have a fake insurance card or ID for you. Now be still or you're going to undo all my hard work."

His mind swam. "Why would I need that? I have insurance. Okay, it's crappy insurance, but it's insurance."

John looked startled. "Oh. Right." He frowned. "I didn't think of that." He shrugged. "Well, I saved you an ER copay, right? Hey!" he shouted, pointing a finger at Jerry who was trying to sit up. "Stay! That's an order."

Even though John turned his back, Jerry did not move. For some strange reason, he liked that, being told what to do. It gave him a freedom that he never had before – the freedom from worry and responsibility. If John wanted that burden, he was welcome to it. Besides, John treated him like he imagined a dad, a real dad and not some half-drunk jackass posing as a foster parent, would. All his life Jerry wanted a family, a real family. Why did he think 'Dad' every time he looked at John now? It was weird, but in a warm, safe kind of way. Funny thing to think with Wendigo slashes through your side.

"So, uh," John? Dad? Cripes, what was he supposed to call the man now? "Where do you get your fake IDs and stuff?"

John grinned. "I make them. When you're better I'll show you how." Jerry nodded at that. It did sound interesting. "You gonna deal or what?" Jerry ripped open the pack of cards.

The next day, he woke to find John staring at him. "What? Was I drooling?" Jerry swiped at his cheek.

"You like the name Jerry?" John asked softly, those dark eyes boring into him.

Jerry shrugged. "I guess. Why?" He smirked at John. "Got any better ideas?"

"My wife," John paused, pain rippling across his face, "she really liked the name Dean. Our first was stillborn, but," now that cocky grin returned, "I kind of think he'd be like you."

Jerry just stared until John squirmed uncomfortably. Finally John thrust something at him. "Here. If you wanted to."

Jerry looked down at the item in his hand. It was his driver's license photo, but the name on the license was Dean Winchester and the address was someplace in Kansas. He fingered it, unsure what he was supposed to do or say now. "Thanks," he whispered. Somehow, it did not seem enough. Was it weird to acquire a family when you were over twenty?

* * *

He kept taking the license out and studying it, rubbing his fingers along the edge. Someone wanted him, as a son. It was like his best birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. The miles rolled under their wheels as John… Dad, drove north. They had a referral about a poltergeist. He thought Dad said the guy worked at an airport or something.

"You said your first child," he said suddenly, his own voice a surprise. "You have more children?"

Dad cleared his throat. "Just Sammy. He's at school."

He nodded, watching the scenery flash past.

"Full ride to Stanford. Wants to be a lawyer," Dad continued, as if he had asked.

"We should go by there," he said, his words again a complete mystery. "Check up on him."

Dad's hands clenched the wheel, his knuckles turning white. "Maybe we should." He cleared his throat. "After the poltergeist."

The poltergeist was a nasty bugger, but Dad was amazing. Okay, he couldn't help too much since his side was still healing up from the Wendigo, but Dad really didn't need much help. He distracted the thing a couple of times, got hit by a few flying objects, all in a day's work.

"How bad did it get you?" Dad demanded when they were safely behind a closed motel room door.

"Not bad," he insisted, pulling off his boots.

"Right." Dad snorted. "You said that last time, too. Come on, shirt off. I want to see how you're healing."

He rolled his eyes, but took off his new leather jacket and the shirt. Dad poked and prodded a few times before standing up straight with a satisfied grunt. "Not bad."

He grinned. "You kidding? I thought I looked magnificent."

Dad rolled his eyes.

"So, when are we heading out to see Sammy?" he asked. "I always wanted a kid brother."

"Yeah," Dad said slowly, his brow creasing, "about that. Ah, Sammy isn't, well, we aren't exactly…"

Dean nodded, he knew that look all too well. "You're not speaking, right?" He sighed. "No wonder you made that ID for me. I'm a replacement."

"No!" Dad leaned right down into his face, eyes blazing. Dean swallowed hard, anticipating a blow that never came. "Don't you ever think that way, you hear me? Ever."

Dean wondered as Dad walked away to calm down if that line from his English class might apply, 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much.' Dad was too angry for Dean not to have struck a nerve with that. Well, he could learn from his mistakes. He would not mention it again. Better to be taken in as a replacement and have a family than to be out on his own again.


	3. Ch3:Meeting Sammy

Now we're into series territory, so I'm putting the name of the episode in parentheses like a subtitle. Some future chapters will cover more than one ep, some only one. (Heh, people are actually reading this. Who knew?? LOL)

**Chapter 3: Meeting Sammy**

(Pilot)

"Dean, right?" Sammy asked, glaring. "I really don't see where any of this is your business."

"Look," Dean was starting to lose his patience, "I told you, your dad has been missing for three weeks. You don't care? Fine. I'll find him myself." He turned his back.

"He's probably just holed up with a few bottles. He'll stumble out in a few days."

Dean spun around, furious. "No," he snapped, "not this time. There's something wrong, I can feel it. And I'm going after him, with or without you. I…I just…" He what? "I can't do it alone."

"Sure you can," Sam replied instantly, but doubt crossed the young man's face. "You can, right?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. But I don't want to."

Sam let out a soft sigh. "What was he hunting?"

Dean suppressed a grin. Being a Winchester was just amazing.

* * *

Dean dropped Sam off at his place. As he drove away, he felt insanely guilty for reasons he could not identify or understand. With a loud sigh that filled the Impala, Dean turned around. He parked out front again, trying to figure out what made his insides clench like this. Then he heard Sam's scream.

He was through the front door and up the stairs before he realized what he was doing. In the bedroom he saw a woman pinned to the ceiling, surrounded by flames. Sam moved toward her, though it was clearly a lost cause. Dean practically had to carry him outside while Sam screamed for his girlfriend. As they looked back at the house, Dean caught a look at Sam's face. Sometimes, being a Winchester sucked, just a little bit. He cringed at the look of loss there and resolved not to let Sam go at it alone.

"Come on," he led Sam back to the car.

"I have to find Dad," Sam insisted, opening the trunk.

"We'll find him," Dean promised.

When Sam finished checking over the weapons, like he didn't trust Dean to keep them in good condition, he threw the shotgun back into the trunk. "We have work to do," he declared as he slammed the trunk shut.

The next couple of days were filled with Sam not sleeping, Sam not eating, and a long cross country drive to the map coordinates in Dad's journal.

"What I don't get," Sam said for the ten-thousandth time, "is why he put your name on the coordinates."

Dean tried not to roll his eyes. "Didn't we cover this already? Dad and I have been on the road together since you left for school."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam start. Dean whipped his head to the side, but he did not see anything out of the ordinary. "What? What's wrong?"

Sam stared at him for a moment. "I'm not sure yet," Sam finally said, lapsing into a silence that lasted until nightfall and the yellow and white stripes in the road looked just a little too curvy for comfort.

"If you see a good place to stay the night, holler," Dean said, straining his eyes in the dark.

"Next exit," Sam replied, as though he innately knew where every motel on the road was. Well, the kid had smarts, Dean would give him that, maybe he did know where they all were. Dean exited to find several roadside motels. He picked the one with the most working neon letters.

"Work for you?" he asked, parking the car.

"Sure."

Unlike the last couple of times they stopped, Sam followed him inside. "My brother and I need a room," Dean said, whipping out one of the credit cards Dad acquired for him. He noticed Sam watching him like a hawk, but maybe it was because the kid hadn't had a decent night's sleep in days.

* * *

Sam watched Dean carefully, memorizing how he moved, talked, smiled. There was something weird going on here, and he was in no mood for weird. Dad? That was what Dean called his dad. Didn't the guy have a father of his own? Well, Sam reflected, he didn't have a mother so what room did he have to talk like that?

Dean handed over what had to be a bogus credit card. Sam's suspicions were confirmed when the clerk called him 'Mr. Knight.' He followed the slightly older man to their room, where two lumpy mattresses awaited them. Exhausted but not sleepy, Sam sunk down on the first bed.

"Move it," Dean said, motioning to the far bed. "That's my spot."

Sam gave him a withering look before retreating to the far bed. What was with this guy? He was now determined to find out. He waited for Dean to hit the shower before moving off the bed. Dean's wallet lay on the bedside table, next to his car keys and loose change. With a glance at the bathroom door, Sam picked up the wallet and opened it. The driver's license said Dean Winchester and had their old Lawrence address. What the hell?

Sam slipped the license out, studied it in the light. When he saw the state crest he nearly laughed out load. An elaborate JW was worked into it, his father's trademark. So, Dad made this for Dean, huh? This just got weirder and weirder. Sam put the license back and proceeded to root through the rest of the wallet. Nothing. Nada. He even tried those little folds most people ignored or kept their mad money in. Zip.

Sam set it back where he found it. The water in the shower was still running and Dean's duffel was open, so Sam stuck his hand in. Dean was a slob, nothing was folded, just stuffed inside. That actually made it easier to search, because Sam didn't have to be careful about how he moved things. He rooted around until his hand hit something hard. It felt like another wallet. Sam pulled it out. This one was nylon, not leather like the first one. He opened it to the exact same picture on the driver's license, but with a totally different name: Jerry Whitehead. The address was for a podunk town in Ohio. Sam pulled this license out and slipped it into his pocket. The sound of water running ceased as he thrust the second wallet back into the duffel bag.

He pulled his laptop out of its carrying case to boot up. When Dean, or rather Jerry, came out of the bathroom towel-drying his hair, Sam was searching for wireless networks.

"Aw, come on, Sammy," Dean complained, "aren't you at least gonna to try sleeping?"

"It's Sam." Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. One thing was for sure, there was no way he could sleep tonight, not sharing a room with this Jerry guy. His father disappeared, his girlfriend was murdered, and this guy just happened to show up to help him? Right. It sounded like something in a Lifetime movie. Not that he watched anything like that, of course. "No point."

Dean shrugged, climbed under the covers. "You're starting to look like crap, you know." He frowned at Sam. "Kinda making me look bad."

"How's that?" Sam asked, his skin crawling. A new idea just occurred to him that would explain not only the driver's license but also Dean's drive to find Dad. He tried to push that idea to the back of his mind.

Dean shook his head. "Like I'm not letting you sleep or something." He sighed. "Well, just give it shot, okay? I'm wiped." With that, Dean fell instantly into a deep sleep.

The fact Dean could just drop off like that amazed Sam and added one more thing to his list of weird where Dean was concerned. He connected to a wireless network. Sam would get to the bottom of this and if that guy had anything to do with his father's disappearance, well, 'Dean' hadn't seen nuthin' yet.

First he searched public records for Jerry Whitehead. He found one birth twenty-six years ago. Looked like he had a winner. Emboldened by his success, Sam tried searching local papers for any news related story. He found one five years later, where the Whitehead family had been attacked by a bear. The bear was blamed for mauling and killing ten people that week, the five year old Jerry being the only survivor. Well, that might explain why Dad looked this guy up in the first place. The attack had all the markings of a Wendigo.

Swallowing hard, Sam let his eyes drift over to sleeping Dean. Or rather, Jerry. When Dean stirred in his sleep, Sam dropped his gaze back to the article. It went on to say that a couple found young Jerry four miles from the campsite walking along the road, covered in blood. He had been mauled. Sam swallowed again. Maybe he had been riding Dean too hard? Then again, that sounded like the classic background for a serial killer. With a sigh, Sam decided to hack into the state's child welfare system to check up on Jerry Whitehead, to see if he had a history of violence.

A couple of hours later Sam hit paydirt. Jerry Whitehead's entire juvenile history in the state of Ohio was available to him now. He sneaked another covert glance, but Dean was still fast asleep. Sam wished he had some coffee to drink while he read, but he did not want to risk waking the possible serial killer in bed a few feet away. Jerry's story was fairly typical of an unwanted kid with severe psychological trauma. After spending six months in hospitals and rehab for the severe mauling, Sam frowned over that one, Jerry went straight into foster care. He had no relatives willing to take him in. Jerry bounced through foster homes until he was fifteen. The last home he ran away from four times, each time going to the police to report child abuse. The next police report detailed that Jerry was in the hospital for three weeks thanks to his foster mother's boyfriend showing up drunk and beating him unconscious. Sam shuddered. Still, there was something wrong here. He kept reading.

When police arrived at the hospital, Jerry refused to talk to them or press charges. However, he did talk to a court-appointed child advocate. They petitioned for and won Jerry's emancipation, allowing him to get a job and live on his own. The child services reports ended there. With a little more hacking, Sam searched for any arrests, juvenile or adult, on Jerry Whitehead. One speeding ticket. Okay, so maybe the guy wasn't psycho-violent, despite the crazy way he distracted that woman in white. Dad made that Winchester license for him, maybe even came up with the name.

Sam's heart pounded in his chest. He never saw his Dad date a woman in his whole life. He always thought it was because Mom was the only person Dad ever loved. Well, maybe Mom was just the only woman Dad ever loved? Sam ran a hand through his hair. Screw this, he needed coffee. Lots of coffee.

Sam waited impatiently for the small motel coffeemaker to finish. This was just crazy, insane. Why this guy? Why a guy, for that matter? What was it about Dean, er – Jerry, that had Dad calling him a Winchester? He wondered if there were enough years left in his life to discuss everything he thought he needed to with Dad, especially now.

Since Dad was not around to ask, Sam decided that he would stick with Jerry for a while, see if he could see what Dad saw. Well, maybe not exactly what Dad saw in him. Dean, he would stick with Dean. He couldn't slip up like that, or Jerry would know Sam was on to him.

"Dude," Dean mumbled as Sam downed his second cup, "you're never gonna get any sleep drinking that stuff."

"Maybe I don't want to," Sam snapped.

Dean groaned, rolling over. "So much for staying sharp to watch my back," he said into his pillow.

Sam felt a twinge of guilt. Just a twinge. It was nothing.


	4. Ch 4: Getting to Know You

Chapter Four:

Wow, there must be some oddballs from L&D reading this. That's the only explanation I have for the following this warped idea had. Thanks!! Glad ya'll are enjoying it!

**Chapter Four: Getting to Know You**

(Wendigo)

"Oh, really?" Sam raged at the idiot animal hunter guiding these ignorant people into the woods. "Have you ever hunted a…"

Dean shoved him away, face flooded with alarm. "Sam!" he hissed, pushing him out of earshot of the others. "What's wrong with you?"

"Dean, he…he…"

"Yelling, flying off the handle. Dude, you sound more like me than you!" Dean snapped, giving him a gentle shove in the chest. "Get it under control."

Sam grit his teeth together, shoving Dean back. He shook his head. "I can't." He ran both hands through his hair. "It's the job. I don't see how Dad's done it all these years." He eyed Dean. "Honestly, I don't see why you're doing it."

Dean pulled Dad's journal out from under his jacket. "Right here, Sam. It's all about saving people." He waved the journal at Sam. "And killing all the evil sonsofbitches that get in our way."

* * *

(Skin)

The way he moved, talked. Sam knew it could not be Dean. This guy really thought they were brothers, that they had a history before Dad disappeared. Dean did not even pretend to go that far, constantly avoiding any talk of childhoods. Sam suspected the Dean did not want to remember being a kid anyway. He tried to catch the shapeshifter off-guard, but those things moved fast.

When Sam woke up, he was tied up down in the shifter's lair. In the sewer. What was wrong with these things? Seriously, they were at least partially human. Maybe in exchange for the ability to look like anybody they lost their sense of smell? He hoped that was the concussion talking. Sam tried to shake off his headache with a groan.

Dean walked over, backhanded him. Okay, definitely not Dean. It had to be the shifter.

"Where is he?" Sam demanded. "Where is Dean?"

The shifter glared at him. "I wouldn't worry about him. I'd worry about you."

"Where is he?" Sam demanded. They were seriously screwed if the shifter had both of them.

"You don't really want to know." Shifter-Dean chuckled, regarding him. "I swear, the more I learn about you and your family." He shook his head. "I thought I came from a bad background."

Sam chewed his lower lip, wondering if it was talking about him, Dean or Jerry. Hell, probably all three with their luck. Then the shifter's words replayed in his head. "What do you mean, learn?"

He saw the shifter pause, grab his head in pain and grimace. Sam watched in a kind of horrified fascination until it relaxed, dropped its hand and looked at him. "He's sure got issues with you. You had a family, college, friends. He had crap. I mean, I had crap. Dad needed you. Where the hell were you?" The shifter pressed a hand against its temple, Dean's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Where is he?" Sam demanded again.

"I am Dean." The shifter took a step back. "See, deep down, I'm just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I'm a freak. And sooner or later, everybody's gonna leave me." He backed further away.

That one hit Sam out of left field. "What are you talking about?" Or, more specifically, who was it talking about: Dean or Jerry? Was there even a difference now?

"You left Dad," it motioned to him, angrily. "Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me. No explanation, nothin', just poof. Left me with your sorry ass." Yeah, Sam knew Dean would rather be with Dad than him. Duh. "But still, this life? It's not without its perks." Its laugh sent a shiver down Sam's spine. "I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky." That shiver just turned to ice. "You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let's see what happens." He smiled as he lifted the sheet to cover Sam.

Sam got the sheet off and went to work frantically on his ropes. "Damn it," he muttered, unable to work himself loose. A cough resounded through the otherwise quiet room. Sam froze, there was someone or something else down here.

"That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature."

Sam was so relieved to hear Dean's voice he laughed. "Yeah, it's me." He twisted around to watch as Dean managed to pull off the sheet covering him. "He went to Rebecca's, looking like you."

"Well, he's not stupid," Dean said, trying to eye his ropes. "He picked the handsome one."

Sam gave him a confused look, but they had more important things to worry about right now. They had to get to Rebecca.

Well, at least they were able to phone in the possible attack on Rebecca before shifter-Dean could kill her. Of course, that meant there was an APB out on Dean now and Rebecca thought his brother, who wasn't really his brother, was a killer. Great, as if his life did not suck enough already. Sam sighed as he trudged up the path to Rebecca's house, hoping to make an effort at reconciliation. He wondered briefly as he knocked if she would have an easier time with shapeshifters being real or Dean being hunted as the psycho killer who set up her brother. Yeah, running around the country with a delusional psychotic who pretended to be your brother just had the ring of truth to it, didn't it?

To his surprise and immense relief, Rebecca did not slam the door in his face and offered him a beer after inviting him inside. Sam spilled the entire story about a shapeshifter impersonating Zack, even though he knew it would be too much. It still seemed better than explaining Dean.

"So, say this shapeshifter is real. By the way, you know you're crazy?" She gave him a look that was so familiar from their Stanford days it made Sam homesick. "But, um, say it is real. How do you stop it?" Rebecca handed him a fresh beer and took the empty.

"Thanks," he sighed, feeling guilty that this was not going well but better than he expected. "Silver bullet to the heart."

She chuckled at him. "You are crazy." He felt a sharp pain across his temple, again, just before darkness clouded his vision.

When Sam was able to open his eyes again, he saw shifter-Dean checking the ropes securing his hands and feet. "What are you gonna do to me?" he asked, a distinct sense of deja-vu filling him. That sense shifted into high-gear fear at the look in its eyes.

"Oh, I'm not gonna do anything. Dean will, though." It gave him a malevolent grin.

"They'll never catch him," Sam stated, feeling certain it was true. That guy was damned resourceful.

"Oh, doesn't matter. Murder in the first of his own brother? He'll be hunted the rest of his life." Shifter-Dean picked up a sharp knife to examine it. Light glinted off the razor sharp edge. Yeah, Dean was way more screwed up than Sam imagined if the shifter still thought they were really brothers. Of course, he felt no reason to correct someone – er – thing – more screwed up than Dean.

Sam watched shifter-Dean warily. It seemed to enjoy his discomfort, wanted to drag this out. He thought back over the police reports of the other murders. Oh, great, he was already lumping himself in with the victims. Anyway, it appeared that the shifter liked causing lots of pain before finally offing its victim. So there was no way this would be fast, or easy.

"I must say, I will be sorry to lose this skin. Your brother's got a lot of good qualities. You should appreciate him more than you do." It poured a drink, twirling the knife in its other hand. "Cheers." Shifter-Dean drank, then picked up the knife and slammed it, tip first, into the edge of the pool table.

Sam almost grinned. Dean would never desecrate a pool table like that, especially with an enemy so close. He lifted his legs and kicked the shifter, knocking it out of the way. With a tight roll, Sam was off the table and cutting his hands free on the knife. He pulled out the knife with his now free hands and cut away the rope binding his legs. The shifter came at him. Sam swung the knife just like Dad always taught. In mid-swing, shifter-Dean grabbed his arm and twisted. Sam fell to the ground, pain coursing through his arm and shoulder.

"Oh, you son of a bitch," shifter-Dean growled. Sam fought for all his was worth, because this was a case of all or nothing. He did not hold back, not at all. He almost had shifter-Dean pinned when he heard, "Not bad, little brother."

"You're not him," Sam insisted as the shifter got away from him. Arm and legs slashed through the air, blows hissing past or landing right on target. It was all the same, until the shifter ran out of patience. Sam was launched into a bookshelf with considerably more force than he expected. These things were strong! It broke apart on impact, wood shelves and books raining down on him.

The ground was the worst place to be in a fight, so Sam forced himself to his feet, eyes never leaving the shifter. They circled warily.

"Even when we were kids, I always kicked your ass," it said, grabbing a pool cue. Sam ducked out of the way, but the shifter was faster and stronger and he was a little tired now. Plus his head throbbed from the two times the damned thing knocked him out. It pinned him on the floor and wrapped Dean's hands around his throat. He knew it was not Dean, but it was Dean's face that smiled down at him and Dean's hands that constricted his airflow.

Then he heard Dean's voice, only it did not come from the face hovering over him. "Hey!" The shifter jumped back. Two gun reports cut through any other noise in the house and two red holes appeared in shifter-Dean's shirt. It fell down, dead he hoped. Sam gasped for air until he realized it was Rebecca with her arms around him, saying his name and asking how he was. His eyes were pinned on Dean. Dean reached down to the shifter and pulled a necklace out that was under the shifter's shirt. He yanked it off, giving Sam a nod to signal that the evil S.O.B. was dead.

Never had Sam been so relieved for a hunt to be over. This one had been emotionally draining and confusing as hell. When Dean made the comment later about regretting missing his own funeral, Sam chose not to comment. There had been too many close calls this time.


	5. Ch 5:Bonding

Okay, one of my favorite scenes in this fic so far is at the end of this chapter.

(Anti-Wincest Warning! Also, for those with weak stomachs, mentions of slash that never happened.)

**Chapter Five: Bonding**

(Home)

Dean slipped away from Sam at the gas station, more than just a little freaked out by Sam's admission of visions. He might have totally dismissed it, except for the fact that this was John Winchester's son. Dean tended to take Sam very seriously because of that. When Dean finally realized this was the reason Bloody Mary came after Sam, because the guy actually blamed himself for his girlfriend's death, Dean felt like slamming his head against the wall.

As he pulled out his phone, he wondered just how much to leave in his message to Dad. His call rolled over to voicemail, of course. "Dad, we're in Lawrence. There's a problem and something in your old house, and I don't know what to do. If you can, please, get here as fast as you can." Dean slid the phone back into his pocket. Telling Dad that his son, his only real son, was experiencing supernatural visions was not the type of thing to leave in a voicemail. If Dad… Correction: _When_ Dad showed up, Dean would tell him everything.

They wound up seeing a psychic named Missouri. Dean did not care for her too much. She kept swatting at his feet and bitching him out for things he hadn't said. The part that freaked him out, though, was when she turned from telling Sam how sorry she was about Jess to him, saying no one should have to watch their parents die like he did. He firmly believed she was a mind reader, but whose mind she read to learn about his parents was bugging him. He never told Sam that part, and tended to keep it buried too deep to think about. To be honest, he didn't even remember that much.

--

* * *

John looked up as Missouri came back into the room. "They left," she informed him, looking down her nose at him. Of course, he did not blame her. It was a pretty shitty thing he was doing to them. "I just don't understand you, John Winchester. Those boys love you."

He maintained eye contact. "Mary? Her spirit?" he asked, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

She shook her head. "Gone. I can't feel any trace of her, or anything else, in that house."

John sighed, resting his head in his hand.

"So, you want to explain that older boy to me now? Why he thinks of you as a father and then you go and abandon him like that?"

John shook his head, not meeting her eyes. "It's, ah, complicated."

"You could just tell me it's because you don't want to see him hurt. What's so complicated about that? I swear, John Winchester, you are the most obstinate, stubborn man I've ever met." He heard the rustle of fabric as her fingers drummed on her hips.

"That kid, he's been through too much already," John tried to explain. "I couldn't just knowingly put him in this kind of danger. But I never thought he'd…"

"What? That he would go to California? Of course he did, he didn't understand and that hurt him more than anything that might have happened to him," she snapped at him. "What did you think he'd do, go back home and become a mechanic again? You'd better be grateful he didn't, because he saved Sam's life."

John blinked up at her. He hadn't known about Sam's girlfriend until now. There were a number of voicemails he hadn't been able to bring himself to listen to all the way through. Something in the tone of Dean's voice this time caught his attention, and was he glad for that.

"They're getting along pretty well," Missouri said, answering his unspoken thought. "Sam is beginning to accept him as Dean. It won't be something that happens overnight, and it would be easier with a little explanation from you, but they won't be getting that, will they?"

He sighed, long and deep. "I can't, Missouri. I just can't."

"Sam is a very talented psychic. I can't imagine why he didn't sense you were already here," she pointed a finger down at him. "I still think you should talk to those boys. Sam is hurting something fierce and Dean doesn't know what else he can do." She glared at him. "Not that it should be his job to do anything."

The implication being it was his job, John knew. "There's too much at stake," John insisted, standing. "I have to go."

Missouri sighed, blocking his way. "Well, you know my door is always open."

"Thanks." He gave her a peck on the cheek as he left. His Mary had finally been truly laid to rest. He should feel relieved or grateful or something. Instead he felt hollow inside, like all of his emotions had abandoned him, just the way he had abandoned the boys.

--

* * *

Dean drove just as far from Lawrence as they could without stopping for a rest. The image of Sam's mother haunted his thoughts, the way she gave him that sad, wistful smile and called him Dean. He wished he could remember his parents. There was this huge black space in his memory, a void of everything that happened before the Wendigo attacked. When they both had to admit sleep was necessary, Dean pulled into a crappy-looking motel. Only one letter in the vacancy sign still worked and when they entered the room, Dean thought he saw something dark and furry scuttle under one of the beds. He tried not to worry about it as he threw his bag down on the floor by his bed.

Sam did not even complain about taking the bed furthest from the door anymore. He wondered if Sam ever figured out why he wanted that bed or if the guy just assumed he was lazy. Not that he really cared either way. There was one thing still bothering him, though.

"Sam?" Dean waited until Sam turned heavy, bloodshot eyes to him. "Can I ask you a question?"

Sam's face scrunched in a puzzled expression that made him look like a little kid. "Uh, I guess. About what?"

Dean motioned to the other bed for Sam to sit down. He wondered if that was a mistake, Sam looked ready to pass out. Dean sat facing Sam.

"I figured out that Missouri can kind of hear what you're thinking," Dean began. Sam chuckled, clearly still amused by the constant tongue-lashing Dean had to endure. "So I wondered how she knew about my parents?"

Sam's face fell. "What do you mean?"

Dean met his gaze. "I mean, I don't think about that. So how did she know?"

Sam's eyes dropped to his feet. He cleared his throat as he pulled out his wallet. After rummaging in it for a moment, Sam pulled something out and handed it over. Dean took the object from Sam's hand. It was his driver's license, the legal one. Dean gave him a questioning look.

Sam shrugged. "Well, can you really blame me? Some guy I've never seen before shows up to tell me that my dad is in trouble? I had to check you out."

Dean nodded, squeezing his hand around it. "Guess not."

"I probably should have asked," Sam rushed to say, "but like I said, I didn't know you. You could have lied to me."

"So what all did you find? On me?" Dean asked, locking into Sam's gaze. "What made you stick with me? You could have just snuck out, taken the car."

Sam cleared his throat again. "Dad wrote those map coordinates to you. He left his journal for you to find." Sam took a deep breath. "If Dad trusts you that much, I figured that meant something."

Dean's heart rate picked up. "Does it?" he asked, unable to squash the hope building in his chest. "Because I, uh, called him on the way here." He felt the heat creep into his face. "But he didn't come." Dean wondered if Sam had been the one to call, if Dad would have showed up.

Sam's eyes hardened, but Dean had no idea why. "Did you?" That cold, calculating tone crept into Sam's voice, the one that made Sam sound like John. It sent a chill up Dean's arms. "Well, I'll have to add that to my list."

Dean felt his eyebrows lift. "List? What are you talking about?"

Sam pulled a small spiral pad out of his pocket. "A list of things to talk to Dad about. You know, so I don't forget anything important."

"Why would that be important enough to be on your list?" Dean asked.

Sam made either a scoffing or huffing noise, he couldn't decide which it was. "Dude, he made you a Winchester." Dean tried to make his face go blank, but it was probably too late. "Yeah, I recognize one of Dad's IDs when I see it. And then he doesn't bother returning your call when you tell him we're coming here because of a vision I had?" Sam's head shook, his hair flying around.

"I didn't…" He stopped when Sam paused in writing to look up at him. Dean's mouth felt a little dry. "I didn't say anything about the visions, just that there was something in your old house."

Sam made that noise again. "If you'd mentioned the vision, I bet he would've shown up." Guilt crept up, making his shoulders sag. Sam's eyes narrowed again. "But, believe it or not, I'm not complaining. As a matter of fact," Sam's back straightened and he looked Dean right in the eye, "I need to thank you. For taking my dreams, visions, whatever they are, seriously. I'm not sure Dad would have done that."

That was a strange thing to say. "But I always take you and Dad seriously," Dean tried to protest.

Sam held up a hand so Dean shut up. "Yeah, I know. And I said thanks."

Dean regarded Sam for a moment before nodding slowly. "Want the bathroom first?" He tilted his head in that direction, as if Sam hadn't figured out where it was yet.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering. "You're too good for us. You know that?" Sam opened his eyes to stare at Dean. "I really don't get why you stick around."

Dean frowned. That sounded so wrong. He was the one trying desperately not to be dumped again. That did not make him too good, for anyone or anything. Sam sure came up with some odd ideas sometimes.

Dean decided to let it slide. He doubted Sam would say anything like that again, so they would both be able to pretend it never happened. That usually worked pretty well with Dad, and so far seemed to work with Sam.

When the sounds of Sam taking a shower reached his ears, Dean eyed the wallet lying on the nightstand. He'd never opened Sam's wallet before. He opened it slowly, expecting something dramatic like Sam bounding out screaming "Ah-ha! Got you!" Dean was almost disappointed when nothing happened. He slid his ID back inside. It was okay for Sam not to trust him, he had not earned that right yet, but Sam should feel trusted. Dean had no other way of showing that.

--

* * *

(Asylum)

Pure rage filled him. Ellicott wasn't evil, he just helped Sam to see what he really felt all this time. It was Dean's fault Dad was gone. Dean did something or said something to drive Dad off the grid. Probably a lover's spat. That was it. That explained the ID with the Winchester name and Dad's disappearance. That explained why every call rolled over to voicemail. That explained everything.

"I told you, I looked everywhere," Sam insisted after Dean mentioned something about a hidden lab. "I didn't find a hidden room."

"Well, that's why they call it hidden," Dean replied. Sam's blood boiled as Dean's head tilted toward the wall with the door. "You hear that?"

"What?" Sam asked, renewing his grip on the shotgun.

Dean crouched down, feeling along the space where the wall met the floor. His thoughts filled with disgusting images of other things Dean could be doing in that position. With his Dad. "There's a door here," Dean said, searching for a way in.

Sam raised his shotgun, pointing it directly at Dean's chest. "Dean." Dean ignored him, as usual. "Step away from the door."

Dean stood, giving him a quizzical look. "Sam, put the gun down."

"Is that an order?" Sam barked, allowing that delicious anger to surge through him.

"More of a friendly request," Dean replied, taking a step back. Good, he looked kind of scared.

Sam made certain there was no mistaking where he aimed his shotgun. "Good. Because I'm getting sick and tired of taking your orders. I mean, should I really have to take orders from my dad's…" God, he couldn't even get the word out.

Dean's eyes widened. "Your dad's what?"

"You know," Sam snarled, motioning with the shotgun. "You know what you are."

"I knew it," Dean breathed out, "Ellicott did something to you, didn't he?"

"For once, just shut your mouth," Sam snapped, that anger wrapping itself around him like a python, squeezing more out every second.

"What are you gonna do, Sam?" Dean's voice grated on his every nerve, like the constant whine of fingernails across a chalkboard. "The gun's filled with rocksalt. Not gonna kill me." That mocking tone was too much.

Sam fired, the blast strong enough to send Dean flying through the hidden door. "No," he said with a smirk, "but it'll hurt like hell."

As Sam stepped into the hidden room, Dean's eyes opened as he gasped for breath. The sound brought a smile to his face.

"Sam," Dean breathed, "we gotta burn his bones. Then you'll be back to normal."

"I am normal!" Sam shouted down at this twisted pervert at his feet. "I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? Because you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Are you that desperate for his approval? For his _love_?"

"This isn't you talking, Sam," Dean insisted, trying to push himself off the floor. Sam pushed him back down with the muzzle of his shotgun.

"That's the difference between you and me. Well, one of them anyway. I'm not pathetic, I have a mind of my own. And I'm not screwing Dad." Sam glared down.

Dean rolled his eyes. "So what are you gonna do, huh? You gonna kill me? Because I take orders and you think I'm ripping Dad off?"

He was stealing from Dad, too? Well, that certainly explained the Impala. That was supposed to be his car, before he went to college. Something else that was Dean's fault. He ground his teeth. "You know what? I'm sick of you telling me what to do. We're no closer to finding Dad now than we were six months ago. When you two obviously had your spat."

"Spat?" Dean blinked up at him. "What spat? What the hell are you talking about now?"

Sam felt his lips twist into a snarl. "Your lover's spat. And you came to get me to try to win Dad back over, right? Use his son to get him back?" Okay, was it him or did that sound much better in his head?

Dean just stared at him for a really long time. Then he pulled out a pistol. When Sam did not move immediately, Dean held the gun up higher. "Just shoot me now." Dean's eyes closed. "Please."

Sam took the gun, pointed it down at Dean. One part of him screamed out in his mind, trying to stay his hand, put the gun down. His hand trembled and he was used to it being rock steady. What was wrong? This was what he wanted, wasn't it? Dean being dead would solve most of his problems, probably even bring Dad back. Yeah, Dad would be so grateful he'd probably call right away, ask to meet up with Sam. Then they would have to have a long, long talk about the kind of people Dad dated. Sam needed to come up with a checklist, and he pondered if number one should require a specific gender.

With that thought, Sam squeezed the trigger. It clicked. Damn, that chamber was empty. He pulled the trigger again and again. What the hell? Didn't Dean trust him?

"Like I'd give you a loaded gun," Dean said. Sam's eyes slid from the empty gun in his hand to Dean's face, but it was too late. Dean reached up and that was the last thing he remembered before waking up in the same dank asylum basement.

"Come on," Dean held out a hand. Sam hesitated before accepting his help, not knowing if he would be hauled to his feet or an early grave. "I torched Ellicott. It's over."

They escorted the kids they rescued inside to their car, Dean issuing a final warning to stay away from haunted asylums.

Sam could not let the guilt consume him. "Hey Dean. I'm sorry, man. I said some awful things back there."

Dean glanced back, that suspicious look on his face. "You remember all that?"

"Yeah, it's like I couldn't control it. I didn't mean it." Sam hoped Dean would believe him, even if it was only half-true. "Any of it."

"You didn't, huh?" Dean asked, not sounding convinced.

"No, of course not," Sam insisted. That voice in the back of his head said that this could be the opportunity to clear the air. "Do we need to talk about this?"

Dean scowled at him. "No. I'm not in the sharing, caring kind of mood. I just wanna get some sleep."

Sam sheepishly tucked himself into the passenger seat. True to his word, Dean drove to the first motel he spotted. Dean checked them in. Sam felt relieved by the fact there were two beds in the room, not that they had ever had anything else. Or any reason to suspect that Dean would ask for a single bed. Sam shuddered at the thought.

Sam brought the medical kit with him and tossed it on the bed. "Okay, let's see it." He motioned to Dean's chest.

Dean scowled at him again. "I'm fine, Sam. It was just rocksalt."

"You always say that," Sam replied, trying to keep his temper. He lost that worse than he ever thought possible already today. "Let me check you out."

Dean's scowl dropped away, replaced by something else. "Dude," Dean breathed, suddenly way too far in Sam's personal space, "how bad does that hurt?"

Dean's fingers brushed against his cheek. Sam leaped backwards, stumbling against the bed and falling back. He rolled off the foot of the bed onto the floor, on his ass. That was hard enough to crack his tailbone, surely. Tears sprang to his eyes as he attempted to roll slowly to the side, to take the pressure off.

"Sam?" Dean crouched in front of him, at matching eye level. "What the hell was that?"

Sam shook his head. "Dude, I don't swing that way."

The last thing he expected was the sound he heard now: Dean laughing. "Well, at least that explains that crap you were spouting earlier about me and Dad." Dean sat on the floor in front of him. "The first time I met him, I remember saying the exact same thing."

Sam's jaw dropped. "No way. Dad made a move on you?"

Dean grinned, but Sam could see there was humor in it and not anything more. "He asked me out to dinner. I must admit, I was a little disappointed that he was only after some information about a Wendigo. I really thought it was my magnificent bod."

Sam laughed despite himself.

"So does this mean you'll let me check out your jaw?" Dean asked, standing. "I promise to take a cold shower."

Sam shook his head. "Just so long as you let me check your rocksalt wounds that I caused. If you got an infection or something…"

"Yeah, yeah. You'd probably never forgive yourself. Well, if you're going to have your hands all over me, I'd better take that cold shower first, huh?" Dean said with a grin.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're not letting go of this one, are you?"

"Let go? Dude, this is gold!"


	6. Ch6:Family Matters

The last chapter had some really mixed reviews. (I thought it was funny, but I am kind of warped.) Let's see what ya'll think of this one. As always, thanks goes out to _**LaceyM**_, _**charis-kalos**_ and _**Kanarah J**_ for their editing efforts and to dear Amy, who braved the original draft and has been asking me when this would post. Future chapter may post a little slower, because I'm in the midst of some more rewriting. (Yes, more!! Hey, the editors want more chapters and the characters kept inserting stuff into the parts I've already written. What can I do?)

**Chapter Six: Family Matters**

(Scarecrow)

Dean was dead to the world, as usual, so Sam answered his phone. "Hello?"

"Sam? What are you doing answering Dean's phone?" Dad's voice blared through at this ungodly hour.

Sam sat bolt upright in bed. "Dad? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Dad said, sounding flustered.

"We've been looking for you everywhere," Sam rushed to say. "We didn't know where you were, if you were okay."

"Sammy, I'm all right. I take it you're with Dean?" Dad asked. "How are you?"

Sam felt there was more in that question than just an inquiry about his welfare. "We're fine," he said, allowing his tone to tell Dad there was a long, long talk in their future. "Dad, where are you?" Out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched Dean sit up in bed.

"Sorry, kiddo, I can't tell you that."

Sam ground his teeth, not that this wasn't exactly the type of thing he expected. "What? Why not?"

"Is that Dad?" Dean asked softly. Sam ignored him.

"Look, I know this is hard for you to understand. You're just gonna have to trust me on this."

A familiar feeling flared up. It was something that only yesterday had consumed him. "You're after it, aren't you?" Sam accused. No one knew his dad better than he did. "The thing that killed Mom."

"Yeah. It's a demon, Sam."

Answers. Dad had answers, and he wasn't sharing. "A demon? You know for sure?"

"A demon? What's he saying?" Dean asked, waving at Sam to get his attention. Sam refused to even look in Dean's direction, this was more important.

"I do. Listen, Sammy, I, uh… I also know what happened to your girlfriend. I'm so sorry." Sam felt the tears sting his eyes. Dad knew, but he never came? "I would've done anything to protect you from that."

"You know where it is?" he demanded. Ellicott was not responsible for all of his anger issues, clearly. Not with the way he felt now.

"Yeah, I think I'm finally closing in on it."

Red flashed through his vision. Dad planned to take on a demon, The DEMON, alone? "Let us help."

"You can't. You can't be any part of it," Dad snapped through the phone.

"Why not?" Sam demanded.

"Can I talk to him?" Dean asked, his hand in Sam's face. Sam brushed it away.

"Listen, Sammy, that's why I'm calling. You and, uh, Dean, you gotta stop looking for me. Alright, now, I need you to write down these names."

"Names?" Sam was floored. This was why Dad called? To tell them to back off? "Names? What names, Dad? Talk to me, tell me what's going on."

"Look, we don't have time for this."

"Is that my phone?" Dean asked, searching the nightstand between their beds. Again, Sam ignored him.

"This is bigger than you think, they're everywhere. Even us talking right now, it's not safe."

"No. All right? No way," Sam insisted. This was ridiculous. Couldn't Dad see that?

"Give me the phone." Now that tone of Dean's Sam never heard used on him before. He glanced over at the hard face.

"I have given you an order. Now, you stop following me and you do your job. You understand me?" Sam shook his head though Dad couldn't see him. "Now, take down these names."

The phone was wrenched from his hand. "Dad, it's me." Sam watched in horrified fascination as Dean talked to his dad. "Where are you? … Yes, sir. … Uh, yeah, I got a pen." Dean scrambled for the notepad and pen on the nightstand. "What are their names?"

Is that why Dad let Dean hang around? Because he finally got his perfect, obedient little soldier? Sam's stomach twisted. The instant Dean got off the phone, he planned to do a check on that number Dad called from. This was the best lead they'd had.

Later, on the way to some state highway in Indiana, Sam pulled off the road. He tried to convince Dean to go to California with him to find Dad, but Dean had to play the perfect little soldier. "It's the middle of the night! Hey, I'm taking off, I will leave your ass, you hear me?" Dean shouted from beside the car.

"I want you to, Dean! Go!" Sam waved him off.

"Goodbye, Sam." Furious, Dean jumped in his car and sped off. Sam glared at the retreating image of the car. Dad's car. Why the hell did Dad give that guy his car anyway? Okay, so it probably ran better than ever now, but still. Sam had known he would be able to get Dean to leave him, but he had hoped they would both make the California trip. It would have been easier with a car.

It took several hours of walking since no one would pick him up, even when he met that cute girl. At the bus station, Sam heard his cell go off. It was Dean. What the hell? "What is it, Dean?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Ah, I'm pretty sure it's a pagan god."

"Really?" Sam asked, wondering why Dean bothered to call. "What makes you say that?"

"The annual cycle of its killings and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman, like some kind of fertility right. You should see the locals. The way they treated this couple… Fattenin' 'em up like a Christmas turkey." Dean sounded disgusted.

"The last meal. Given to sacrificial victims," Sam replied, his brain automatically coming to the same conclusion.

"Yeah, I'm thinking ritual sacrifices to appease some pagan god. It possesses the scarecrow, which takes the sacrifice, and for another year the crops won't wilt and disease won't spread."

"Scarecrow?" Sam asked. He listened to Dean's explanation, the usual horror and fascination he associated with hunting welling up. He attempted to push those feelings away, concentrate on the reason he was sitting alone in a bus station. "Do you know which god you're dealing with?" he asked, trying to distract himself from that emerging sense of guilt.

"No. Not yet."

Sam shut his eyes, trying ride out the current wave of guilt. "If you can figure out what it is, you can figure out a way to kill it," Sam offered. His long walk cooled his temper, but there was no way he was going back there if Dean wouldn't help him find Dad.

"Yeah, I figured. I'm on my way to a local community college. Since I don't have my trusty geek-boy with me, I have an appointment with a university professor."

Sam felt another stab of guilt. Had Dean ever hunted by himself before? He shouldn't have abandoned the guy, but Dean kept getting in the way of searching for Dad. Dad was more important. Dad was family. Dean was…well…what the hell was he, anyway? Every time Sam thought he had Dean figured out, something new popped up.

"Dean, if you want my help, all you have to do is say so." Did that really come out of his mouth? He must feel worse than he thought.

"Nah. I just…" Dean cleared his throat. Sam waited, trying to be patient. "I, uh, admire you, you know. The way Dad talks about you, and the way you are and how you stand up to Dad. I could never…" his voice broke. Well, Sam could understand that. Dad had to put up with him, but Dean? If Dean ever back-talked Dad, Dad would probably leave him in the dust. He wondered if that's what happened. "I'm proud of ya, Sammy."

Sam stared off into space. Proud? Of him? For abandoning the guy in the middle of a hunt? "I don't know what to say, Dean." No idea. No clue.

"Say you'll take care of yourself."

Sam started at the suggestion. He abandoned Dean, but the guy was still worried about him? "I will," he promised, feeling another, deeper stab of guilt.

"Call me when you find Dad."

"Ok," Sam agreed, mainly because at this point he figured Dean probably deserved it. Even if Dad didn't want him to, he would. At this point he owed Dean at least that. "Bye, Dean."

"Who was that?" The cute blonde, Meg, was back. He was relieved when she showed up; it was nice to see a friendly face. He hadn't realized how used to traveling with someone he was until he had to sit alone in this bus station.

"Uh, Dean." Sam nodded, realizing that Meg might not understand and assume the wrong thing. She looked away. A lifetime of lying really paid off at times like these. "My brother."

"Oh." Meg looked at him again, smiled. "What did he say?"

Sam swallowed past the lump in his throat that shouldn't be there. "Goodbye."

He exchanged a look with Meg before settling down on the floor to wait. The next bus to California, where Dad was, would not be there until tomorrow. Sam wondered how long it would be until Dean reached the college. When Sam rummaged in his wallet looking for a spare dollar for one of the vending machines, he ran across the Jerry Whitehead ID. Great, Dean was proud of him and trusted him with the legal ID. How long had that been in there, anyway? Consumed with guilt Sam slumped back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. He drummed his fingers nervously on the stained vinyl tiles until he managed to fall asleep leaning against the wall.

When he woke, Sam reached for his cell. No calls. Concerned that Dean did not call him after talking to the professor, Sam figured he should call. Sam felt the need to be sure Dean understood what he was dealing with and how to kill it. No answer. Confused, Sam kept trying. Maybe Dean was just out of range. After three hours of voicemail, he made his decision.

"Sam!" Meg rushed over. "The bus is here. Let's go!"

"You catch it. I have to go," Sam swung his bag over his shoulder.

"What? Where?" Her brow furrowed, like he just said the last thing she ever expected to hear.

"My, uh, brother. He isn't answering his phone, it keeps rolling over to voicemail. I have to find him." Sam tried to walk past her, but she jumped in his way.

"Your brother?" Meg demanded. "You mean the guy you were running away from? Now you're running to him? Why, because he won't pick up the phone? He probably just turned it off. Sam, come to California with me."

With her. The invitation was clear, and really tempting. "I'm sorry. This isn't like him. I'm sure he's in trouble. I have to go."

"What kind of trouble?" Meg asked.

"I can't explain. Go catch your bus." Sam headed for the door.

"But why?" she demanded again.

"Because," Sam turned around slowly as the words formed, "he's my family."

Whoa. That was weird, and yet the description felt right. The Jerry Whitehead ID felt heavy in his wallet as Sam walked purposefully outside the bus station. Dean's hotwiring lessons finally paid off. As he broke into and hotwired a car at the far end of the parking lot, Sam wondered if Dean would approve of Sam leaving such a hot chick for him. Probably not, he decided as the engine roared to life. Looked like he had plenty of gas to get back, he just hoped it would be in time.

As he headed toward town, Sam strained to remember Dean's description of the orchard and the scarecrow. Was it along this road? Wait a minute, what was that? That looked suspiciously like someone tied to a tree. Sam pulled over, slamming on the brakes. With the fresh scent of burnt rubber heavy in his nostrils, Sam raced through the orchard.

"I can't see." It was a woman's voice. She sounded scared. Sam moved closer, towards it. "Oh my God." He was nearly there. "Oh, my God!"

"Dean?" he asked of the lump next to the tree in front of him.

"Oh! Oh, I take back everything I said," Dean twisted around to look at him. Sam felt his shame burn in his cheeks. Yeah, obviously Dean had feelings too. "I am so happy to see you! Come here." Dean shook his well tied hands at Sam. Sam whipped out his knife to cut him loose. "Wait, how did you get here?"

"I, uh," Sam ducked his head, embarrassed as he cut away the last of Dean's bonds, "stole a car."

"Haha! That's my boy! And keep an eye on that scarecrow," Dean pushed himself up, "he could come alive any minute."

"What scarecrow?" Sam asked, looking around. He had been trying to spot one on the way in.

Dean and the girl both jumped. Sam cut away the girl's bonds. "So any idea how to kill it?"

"Sacred tree," Dean said, prying at the ropes holding the girl. "It's the source of its power." Freed, she grabbed Dean's hand and he led them both through the orchard.

"So let's find it and torch it." Sam suggested, keeping up easily.

"Nah, in the morning. Let's shag ass before Leatherface shows up." That particular note in Dean's voice struck an alarm in Sam's mind. They burst into a small clearing ringed with what Sam assumed were townspeople. "This way." Dean spun around, but more people armed with shotguns blocked their way.

"Please," the girl pleaded, "let us go."

"It will be over quickly," a gray-haired man said, stepping forward. Sam really hoped the guy was not related to her, but the familiar tones were hard to miss.

"Please," she said, her desperation clear.

"Emily," the man rested a hand on her shoulder, "you have to let him take you. You have to…" Red blossomed across his stomach, followed by a black object protruding through the fabric. A look of shock came over the man's face as he was dragged backwards.

"Come on," Dean said, a firm hand on Sam's shoulder spinning him around and shoving him away. They raced from the clearing. Dean paused just before they made it to the end of the orchard to look back. Sam turned, following his gaze. The clearing was empty. It got all of them. "Guess the apple pie wasn't worth it," he muttered, heading for the car.

The next morning they torched the tree and put Emily on a bus. Sam watched the bus pull away. "Think she'll be all right?"

"I hope so," Dean replied, turning to head for the car.

"So. The townspeople? They're just going to get away with it?" Sam asked, following in step behind Dean.

Dean shrugged. "I guess whatever happens to the town now will have to be punishment enough." He glanced back at Sam. "So, can I drop you off somewhere?"

"Nah." Sam reached for the door handle of the Impala. "I think you're stuck with me."

"Really? What made you change your mind?" Dean's brow furrowed as he studied Sam.

Sam wondered if Dean would believe him, even if it was the truth. That drive last night had scared him, more than he wanted to admit. "I didn't. I still wanna find Dad. And you're still a pain in the ass." He was surprised Dean just nodded without comment. "But, Jess and Mom—they're both gone. Dad is God knows where. You and me. We're all that's left. So, if we're gonna see this through, we're gonna do it together." Plus, it nearly killed Sam to see them tied to a tree left for sacrifice. That was his fault, for not being there. Dad created and then abandoned Dean, leaving Sam to pick up the pieces. Sam decided he would not be responsible for dropping any of those pieces again, not with peoples' lives on the line.

"Sam," Dean rested a hand on his shoulder, "that was beautiful. Hold me."

Sam knocked it away, laughing. "Dude, you should be kissing my ass. You were dead meat." He dropped down into the passenger seat. When it was Dad's car, this was his seat, and now that it was Dean's, he was still in the passenger seat. It seemed to be his lot in life.

"I had a plan," Dean protested, sliding behind the wheel, eyes sparkling. "I'd have gotten out."

"Yeah, right." Sam rolled his eyes as Dean started the car. Somehow this felt right to him, more so than he had felt in weeks.

* * *

(Faith)

Sam carried Dean out to the Impala. A couple of minutes of CPR and Dean started breathing on his own, thank God, but he did not wake. The kids scrambled into the front seat so Sam could lay him down in the back. This so did not go according to plan.

He raced to the hospital, the kids still whimpering in the seat next to him. He hated to admit it, but Dean was better with kids than he was. He should be up here keeping them quiet. That whimpering was annoying.

At the hospital, it took all of Sam's restraint not to sucker punch the doctor. Can't work miracles, huh? Well, he'd see about that. He tried calling Dad. Voicemail, of course. Sam heard the crack in his voice as he left the message about the accident, hoping Dad would call with a miracle. He knew it was false hope, but he'd already left messages with about a dozen people out of Dad's journal. Someone had to know something.

There was a knock at the door. Sam jumped up, wondering if his fake credit card had thrown up a red flag. Dean, pale and weak, leaned against the doorframe.

"Are you insane?" Sam demanded, leading him inside.

"Dude, I am not dying in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot," Dean said with a chuckle, allowing Sam to guide him into a chair. Sam shook his head. At least Dean still had that annoying sense of humor, so he couldn't feel too bad.

Sam reevaluated that judgment when they were on the road. The snarky comments still flowed from Dean's mouth, between long naps and turning up the heat. He finally decided Dean's annoying sense of humor was just a coping mechanism.

"Did Dad call?" Dean asked for the two-hundredth time as they pulled in for gas.

"Not yet," Sam replied. "We don't even know if he checked his voicemail."

Dean nodded, sinking lower in the seat. "Yeah, that must be it."

Sam heard the resigned tones and it made him cringe. Jerry hadn't had a family since he was five, and now Dean felt neglected. That wasn't right. It wasn't fair. It also wasn't fair that Dean had single-handedly faced down a rawhead so Sam could get those kids to safety. It wasn't fair Dean got himself electrocuted, mainly because he idiotically amped up the tasers to a hundred thousand volts, but it was for a good cause. The weight of Jerry's ID was heavy in his pocket.

Sam restrained a groan as he gassed up Dean's beast; his car. When did he start thinking of it as Dean's car, anyway? Even if Dean…no, he did not want to go there. No matter what, the Impala was Dean's. Period. He hoped that Joshua guy, the friend of Dad's, was on the level. No one had ever intentionally crossed Sam and he really hoped this would not be the first time. He knew what happened to people who crossed Dad, and Sam did not have Dad's patience. He had a lot less.


	7. Ch7:Brotherhood

Sorry for the delay - one of my editors fell off the radar, hope she's all right! (She's probably holed up doing her taxes.) Well, after having to pay the gov't, I decided I needed a little cheering up, so I'm posting!! Thanks again to _**Charis-Kalos **_and _**LaceyM **_and _**Kanarah J **_for all their proofing efforts! This section with The Benders ep is actually the whole reason for this AU and I'm particularly fond of it. (I hope the off-ep portion of this chapter meets with your approval as well.)

**Chapter Seven: Brotherhood**

(The Benders)

"Dean?" Sam glanced over, watching the man next to him walk. "What's wrong with your arm?"

Dean had been pressing his left arm against his side. Now his right hand dropped away. "Nothing. It's fine."

"You've been holding your left arm like that since we left. What happened?" Sam demanded. Sirens in the distance told him backup was arriving. That place would undoubtedly be a police hotbed for years considering the number of murders that had to have been committed by that family. Sam glared at him. "They hurt you, didn't they?"

Dean shrugged, walking away down the dark rural road. Sam gritted his teeth. It wasn't like he could do anything here anyway. They needed to get back to the car and their first aid kit. He almost laughed at himself. When did he start thinking of things as being 'theirs'? Dean just might be the sanest member of the Winchesters, saved by the virtue of genetics.

After a few miles, Sam could not be sure how far exactly, a rusted pickup drove past. It pulled off the road and stopped. As they approached, a man stepped out. "You boys break down or something?"

"Yeah, a few miles back," Dean called out. "Don't suppose you'd give us a lift into town?"

"Long as you don't mind riding in the back?" he gestured to the open bed of the pickup.

"No problem!" Sam shouted, wondering if he needed to help Dean up. As it turned out, Dean stepped up on the tailgate and right in, like he'd done it a thousand times. Well, Sam reflected, he might have. Sam followed Dean's example, but a little slower.

"All set! Thanks!" Dean shouted, leaning back against the cab. Sam leaned on the side until Dean motioned to him. "Over here, Sammy. Less wind."

Sam moved over to sit beside…his brother. The label still sounded strange, but he couldn't help but feel it was appropriate. The two had been through so much together. When Sam saw Dean tied to that chair, heard his voice bellowing threats through the house, Sam knew. If they had hurt Sam, really hurt him, he was sure Dean would have carried through on those death threats. When the cop killed Pa Bender, Dean apparently approved. Sam wondered what might have happened if she hadn't.

They bounced as the truck pulled back onto the road. The ride on the road was smoother, though not by much. "Dean? Why did she do it?" he asked, staring up at the night sky.

He felt Dean lean in some, until their shoulders just touched. "A few years ago her brother went missing. That was his car she asked about."

"So they killed her brother?" Sam asked. Well, it stood to reason. The Benders killed a lot of people. "You, uh, seemed to approve." He did not want to see the look on Dean's face, so he concentrated on picking out constellations. They were so much clearer out here than in town.

He felt Dean's shoulder move against his. "Couldn't blame her." Dean sighed, the sound almost lost in the noise from the road and truck engine badly in need of a tune-up. "Don't know how she's kept it together all this time."

Sam winced, grateful for the darkness shrouding their facial expressions. "Because she's a strong person, like you," he smiled internally. As if personal strength was any stranger to Dean. Images of his 'brother's' troubled past formed in his mind. He had survived losing his parents, all those foster homes, the abuse, moving out on his own at such a young age, and he still managed to end all of his sentences with a witty remark.

They rode in silence the rest of the way to town. Sam wondered if Dean even heard him, but he figured it was more likely that Dean ignored it. Comments like that didn't fit into Dean's universe. The truck stopped just inside town. Dean pounded the top of the cab shouting thanks before leaping off the side. Sam followed his brother's lead. They were only a few blocks from the motel here.

As they walked, Sam noticed Dean holding that left arm again. He was determined to see what was wrong there, Dean's stupid bravado be damned. They reached the motel and Dean turned to Sam. "You have the key?"

Sam frowned, patting down his pockets. "I think the Benders took mine. You?"

Dean shook his head. "Cops."

Sam's eyes widened. "You were arrested?"

Dean scowled. "Not officially."

"What does that mean, not officially?" Sam dogged, following Dean to the front desk.

"Well, I might have been cuffed, but she never took me in," Dean explained, opening the door. "Excuse me?" he said, walking up to the desk. "We locked our keys in the room. Can I get a replacement?"

The clerk rolled his eyes before producing another key for their room. Dean thanked him, taking the card key with flourish before leading Sam to the room. The instant the door closed, Dean sunk down on the closest bed. "I'm just going to grab a few hours. Feel free to stay up."

"Oh, no, you don't." Sam walked over, pulling Dean back up. "Give me the car keys."

Dean frowned at him, pulling the keys out of his pocket.

"How did the cop get the room key but not the car keys?" Sam asked, taking them.

"Dude, you gotta have priorities." Dean shook his head like Sam should have known better, laying back. "Don't stay out too late," he said as his eyes closed.

Sam rolled his eyes, heading out the door. The car was still in the parking lot, right where they left it before walking over to the bar where the whole mess started. He took out the first aid kit before locking the car again. Sam headed back to their room, determined to see why Dean's arm bothered him so much.

Typical, Dean was already out. Too bad, Sam thought, setting the plastic box on the nightstand. Sam checked Dean's left shoulder and found a hole in his shirt. A burn hole. He sucked in his breath through his teeth. "Oh, Dean," he whispered. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for what had to happen next. "Dean! Wake up, man! I need to check your shoulder."

"Fine. It's fine," Dean muttered. "Just need to sleep."

"No," Sam insisted, grabbing the good shoulder to pull him up, "I need to look at it. Come on."

Dean groaned, wincing as he pulled off his shirt. It was the wince that got Sam. Dean never admitted to pain, much less showed it. Then he saw the scars. Thick, knotted lines pulled across the top of his chest, culminating in a criss-crossed mess over his left shoulder. He racked his memory of the past few months, but Sam could not recall having seen Dean with his shirt off. The time he checked those rocksalt wounds, Dean had just lifted up his shirt to reveal the bruised skin, never removing it. He stared until a dazed Dean asked, "Is it that bad, Sam?"

Sam's eyes darted to the wide burn on Dean's shoulder. "What the hell did they do?" he asked softly, reaching for the first aid kit without taking his eyes off his brother.

Dean shrugged. "Like I told you, demons I get. People are crazy."

Sam could only nod. "What did they use?" he had to tear his eyes away to find the burn cream, then he debated on whether or not to take Dean to the hospital.

"I think it was one of those poker things," Dean replied, waiting patiently.

"A fireplace poker?" Sam asked, astounded. He mumbled under his breath while looking for the bottle of painkillers, "It's a good thing she shot him."

Dean chuckled. "Gee, Sammy, you almost sound like you care."

"Shut up," Sam snapped, handing over two pills. "Take those."

Dean shrugged, popping them dry. Sam decided not to wait until the pills could take effect. Dean would probably be asleep long before then. "Come on, we need to get you to the bathroom."

"Sammy, I'm tired," Dean whined. "Can't we do this in the morning?"

"No," Sam snapped. Dean was not exactly the whining type. "You're either going to let me, or we go to the ER." When Dean did not move, he added, "Or I call an ambulance."

"Pain in my ass," Dean grumbled, standing up. He shot Sam a glare as he made his way into the bathroom.

Sam followed. "Sit on the edge of the tub," Sam ordered. "Left side in."

Dean sighed but he complied, leaning back against the tile. Sam ran just the cold water as he sat on the closed toilet. He grabbed one of the plastic cups off the bathroom counter and ripped the sanitary cover off, letting it fall to the floor. Cup after cup of cool water went over Dean's shoulder until he started giving Sam the evil eye.

"This isn't just an excuse to see me without my shirt?"

"Shut up," Sam said, snagging a clean towel. He dried the area around the wound before applying the burn cream and covering the whole thing with some fresh gauze and taping it in place. "We're getting that checked out tomorrow," Sam informed him. "It looks pretty bad."

"But I can go to bed now?" Dean asked, half-lidded eyes pleading with him.

"Sure," Sam replied, hoping that meant the pain killers were working. When Dean stumbled on the way to bed and Sam had to catch him, he knew the pain pills had kicked in.

"You wouldn't be so worried about me if you knew," Dean chuckled, letting Sam guide him into bed.

Sam frowned. "If I knew what?" he asked. Since the heart attack thing, Sam had trouble imagining his life without Dean in it. Okay, that was weird, wasn't it? This was just some guy Dad met on a routine job who managed to worm his way into their family, and Sam had become pretty attached.

Really attached.

Too attached.

No wonder motel clerks kept getting the wrong idea, with him hovering protectively in the background.

"I gave you up," Dean said, sinking into the bed. "They said I had to choose."

"Choose?" Sam pulled the covers up, careful not to come close to the burn. "What do you mean, choose?"

Dean's eyes closed, his breathing slowing. "Figured you'd have a better chance than the chick." His eyes snapped open. "But they lied, Pa told them to shoot you in the cage. What happened?"

Sam's rage boiled over. "You mean they did that," he motioned to the burn, "to force you to choose which one of us they'd hunt next?"

Dean nodded, eyes open and honest. "What happened, Sam? How did you get out?"

Sam sat on the edge of Dean's bed. "They're about as smart as they look."

One side of Dean's mouth curled up. "Atta boy!" He settled into the bed. "Thanks for coming to get me anyway, Sam."

"Dean?" Sam rested his hand on Dean's unhurt shoulder. His brother's eyes fluttered open, fighting against the pull of the pain pills. "Next time, give me up before they start torturing you."

"Next time," Dean replied, and Sam could tell by the twinkle in his eye this would be a dig, "don't be such a killjoy and take off without me."

"I won't."

"Right," Dean snorted, eyes closing for the last time that night.

Sam sighed before getting ready for bed. He passed his wallet on the nightstand. He eyed it for a moment before opening it and removing the Jerry Whitehead ID. Sam ran a finger along the edge, contemplating his next course of action.

He pulled the metal wastebasket over, sitting on his bed. With another glance at Dean, he took Dean's lighter off the nightstand between their beds. It took nearly a minute for Jerry's ID to catch, but Sam was patient. When the flames threatened to burn his fingers, he dropped the ID into the wastebasket. He watched it burn, the plastic shriveling and blackening, until the picture and name were nothing but a lump of smoldering black. Satisfied, Sam replaced Dean's lighter on the nightstand before swinging his legs into the bed. That was one less thing he needed to worry about.

--

(Between Eps)

Sam sat up, his sleep-addled brain trying to place the sound that woke him. Finally his eyes hit on Dean's cell. Oh, right, that was it. He snagged it off the nightstand to look at caller id. It just displayed a number. He glanced over at Dean's sleeping form. His brother still looked kind of pale from his treatment at the hands of those damned Benders.

Sam flipped the phone open. "Hello?" He stifled a yawn.

"Jerry?" A woman's voice came through the phone. She sounded like she had been crying. "Jerry, honey, is that you?"

Sam frowned at the wall. "No, sorry. He's asleep. Can I help you?"

"Who are you?" she demanded with a crack in her voice.

"My name is Sam," he said, wondering if he should wake Dean. "Dean – uh, Jerry, really needs his sleep. Can I have him call you back?"

He heard her take a deep breath. "He can call me if he wants. Tell him Ella called. His best friend from high school, Tom, was just… It was a car wreck. The funeral is next week."

Sam sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe I should wake him up. Hang on."

He set the phone down before moving to Dean's bed. Grabbing his brother by the good shoulder, Sam shook him awake.

"Huh?" Dean's eyelids moved slowly. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"It's about Tom," he said, only now realizing that Jerry's best friend was named Tom. Oh, God, how much teasing did they have to put up with?

"What about him? How'd he get this number?" Dean asked, holding out a hand for his phone.

Sam slapped the phone into his outstretched hand. "It's somebody named Ella. Tom's dead." Yeah, okay, so Sam wasn't exactly up on how to break bad news.

Dean frowned as he took the phone. "Hello? … Ella? How did you get this number? … Yeah, Sam told me. Thanks for calling. … I don't see where that's any of your business. … I don't know. I'll think about it. … Don't hold your breath on that. Maybe we'll see you at the funeral. … Bye."

Sam sat next to his brother on the bed. "You okay?"

Dean shrugged, setting the phone back on the nightstand. "I haven't talked to Tom since graduation. He went off to college someplace. Didn't have time for me anymore."

"Still." Sam tilted his head to one side, wondering if it would give him a better view of what was going on in the other man's head. "He was your best friend."

Dean shook his head and stretched, his right arm going much higher than the left. "That was another life, Sam."

"Do you want to go? We can go," Sam offered, not wanting Dean to think he had to do it alone.

Dean eyed him shrewdly. "Trying to get back behind the wheel of my car, aren't you?"

"I'm not kidding, Dean. If you want to go, we'll go," Sam insisted. "Who's Ella?"

Dean sighed as he leaned against the headboard. "She was my foster mother."

"Which one?" Sam asked, trying to remember just how many foster parents Jerry had had over the years.

"The last one," Dean said, with a little too much emphasis.

Sam stared for a moment. "The one whose boyfriend beat the crap out of you?" He would like to get his hands on that bastard.

"Don't even think about it," Dean warned, as if the thought had been plastered all over Sam's face. "But yes, that one." Dean chuckled and shook his head at Sam.

"What?" Sam demanded.

Dean shook his head again. "Dude, Dad always said you were way too good at the research. Now I get it."

"How did she get your number?" Sam asked, still burning with curiosity.

Dean shrugged. "I might've called an old girlfriend a couple of months back. Just to talk. She and Ella always got along."

"Oh." Sam thought that one over. "Was that when you were, uh…" He still had trouble talking about the heart attack.

"Dying?" Dean asked, a thin smile on his face. Honestly, his brother's cavalier attitude about it really ticked him off sometimes. "Yeah, it was."

Sam stared at the door for a minute before meeting Dean's eyes again. "So?" he asked. "When is the funeral?"

Dean shook his head. "Forget it, Sam. We're not going."

"Why not?" Sam demanded. "Are you afraid of letting me meet your old friends?"

"Yep." Dean yawned as he slid back down into bed. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

Puzzled, Sam stared for a moment. "We're really not going? Because you don't want me to meet your old friends?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're not going because I haven't heard from Tom in, like, ten years. Hell, after graduation I heard from my freaking ex-foster mother more than him. I think he only hung out with me because I had my own apartment." His eyes closed. "Don't need to hang around with losers like that anymore."

"So… You wouldn't be ashamed to let me meet your old friends?" Sam asked uncertainly.

One moss-green eye peeked out through a slitted eyelid. "Dude, you serious? I'd be ashamed for you to meet those losers." He snorted as the eye closed again. "Not to mention the stories they'd probably tell you."

Sam couldn't hold back the grin spreading over his face. "I know where you're from. I could just drive us there."

"Not with two broken arms," Dean growled.

Sam chuckled, slapping Dean in the leg as he stood. "Yeah, okay. I'd still like to meet Ella sometime."

Dean snorted, eyes still closed. "Why? So you can chew her out? Forget it, Sam. He beat her up for years before I could convince her to move out. She's been through enough."

Sam looked down, a fresh wave of confusion rising up. "You didn't exactly sound friendly with her on the phone."

A long sigh escaped from Dean. His eyes opened and locked on Sam. "If you were a dog, you'd be one that was a cross between Marmaduke and one of those annoying little terriers."

Sam grinned. Did that mean he was getting an answer? Dean pushed himself up and motioned to the end of the bed. "Okay, it's probably past time for this crap anyway." He waited until Sam sat back down. "Just because I don't want to punish Ella for what happened doesn't mean I don't still blame her. Yeah, I know, it sounds weird." He grinned suddenly, the bright smile out of place in the conversation. "Welcome to Jerry's life."

Sam shook his head at his brother. "No, thanks. I'll stick with Dean." He spread his hands wide. "If that's okay with you."

"Whatever." Dean shrugged. "So, any other questions?"

Sam settled in, perfectly comfortable at the foot of Dean's bed. Yeah, he had more questions. He wanted to know about the other foster homes and what it was like to grow up as Jerry. He asked about the Wendigo attack that killed Jerry's parents. It was shocking to learn just how little Dean remembered of his life before the attack. When Dean's yawns appeared real and not just a distraction, Sam shoved his brother back in bed with orders to go back to sleep.

He headed out the door on a food run. As the Impala roared to life, Sam was struck with a brilliant idea. He fished his phone out to place a floral delivery order in Jerry's hometown, where the funeral would be. At the very least, Tom's family deserved to see flowers from his former best friend. He wondered how many people would wonder over the 'and Sammy' he asked them to put on the card.


	8. Ch8:Ties That Bind

Okay, the Hell House chapter is finally here!! I do have several more chapters after this one written and in the beta-ing process. They go pretty AU, by request. Thanks again to all the editors on this fic and to everyone reading it.

**Chapter Eight: Ties That Bind**

(Shadow)

Dean glanced back at Sam, carrying an overstuffed duffel. "Why didn't you just leave that stuff in the car?"

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again – better safe than sorry," Sam insisted. Dean could tease him from now until doomsday, which was nearly today, and he would stand by his gut feeling. His gut told him this was not quite over.

Dean opened the door to their room. As Sam reached for the light switch, Dean hollered "Hey!" Sam flipped the lights on as Dean's gun pointed into the dark room. "Dad?"

"Hey, boys." Dad's familiar baritone voice penetrated the room.

Sam's hand trembled against the wall. Dean approached Dad slowly. Now he would know; he would see the truth for himself. Dad's arms opened and embraced Dean in a tight hug. Sam imagined if he could watch Dad hug him, it would look the same. Of course, there was no guarantee that would happen.

Dad moved Dean to the side, approached Sam. "Hi, Sam."

"Hey, Dad." Sam lowered the weapons bag to the floor.

"Dad, it was a trap," the note of anxiety in Dean's voice was prominent. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Dad turned to the side, where Dean could see his face and that blanket of sincerity he had worn for as long as Sam could remember. "It's all right. I thought it might've been."

"Were you there?" Dean asked softly.

"Yeah, I got there just in time to see the girl take a swan dive. She was the bad guy, right?"

"Yes, sir," Sam responded automatically, in perfect sync with Dean.

Dad's eyebrows lifted, eyes darting between them. "Good. Well, it doesn't surprise me. It's tried to stop me before."

"The demon has?" Sam demanded.

Dad nodded. "It knows I'm close. It knows I'm gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to hell – actually kill it." Sam almost smiled at that tone. He always believed Dad when he sounded like that, even if logic dictated it was a lie.

"How?" Dean asked from behind Dad.

Dad smiled, turning to include Dean in the conversation. "I'm working on that."

"Let us come with you," Sam demanded. "We'll help." He ignored any look coming from Dean.

"No, Sam. Not yet." Dad sighed, eyes dropping for an instant. "Just try to understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch." Dad's eyes bored into him, impressing the words on his brain. "I don't want you caught in the crossfire. I don't want you hurt."

"Dad," Sam pushed back his irritation, knowing that was the quickest way to get a NO, "you don't have to worry about us."

Dad's eyes widened at that. It took Sam a moment to realize it was the 'us' that caught Dad off guard. Well, turn about was fair play. It wasn't like Dad ever called or wrote to warn him about Dean. His imagination conjured that letter for him: Dear Sam, guess what? The stork dropped off an older brother for you. I'm sure you can't wait to meet him.

"Of course I do. I'm your father." Dad scratched the back of his neck, that telltale sign of nervousness. "Listen, Sammy. Last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight."

Dean's eyes were wide over Dad's shoulder. "Yes, sir," Sam replied.

"It's good to see you again. It's been a long time." Dad's arms opened.

Sam reached for his dad, pulling him in tight. "Too long." They stood there a long time in that hug, trying to wash away the past years of estrangement and mixed emotions. Finally they released each other. Sam wiped the tears from his cheeks as he glanced at Dean, expecting some kind of 'chick' comment. Instead he saw Dean with watery eyes.

Before Sam could open his mouth, a force hooked around his middle and dragged him backward. He heard what sounded like a body slamming into the cabinets behind him. "No!" Dean's voice shouted through the room.

Sam glanced up as Dean was thrown the other way. The pressure around his chest eased. Sam groped for the bag. He rummaged around until his hand hit what he wanted. Pulling a couple of flares out, Sam shouted "Shut your eyes! These are shadow demons, so let's light 'em up!" He ignited the flare, looking away. The brilliant light blinded him for a moment. Sam threw one flare across the room before lighting a second.

"Dad!" Dean's voice pierced the room.

"Over here!" Sam followed his father's voice and the sounds of Dean's movements. Together, they managed to escape the room with Dad and the weapons.

What happened after that, though, really blew Sam's mind.

"How could you do that, Dean?" Sam turned pleading eyes on his brother who was driving the car. Man, they had a lot to clean and bandage. Dean's face looked like he just finished fighting a grizzly. "We've been looking for him for months! Were you afraid if Dad and I were together that we'd dump you?" The words of the shapeshifter about how Dean expected everyone around him to leave sprang to mind.

That expression of absolute amazement crossed Dean's face. "What the hell are you talking about, Sam?"

"Why did we just let Dad leave, Dean!" Sam's voice filled the car.

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Sam, they used us to get to Dad. We make him vulnerable."

"We are stronger as a family, Dean!" Sam stopped just after the words left his mouth. Yes, he did mean that. "The three of us, we're a family. We're stronger together!"

Dean shook his head, staring into the night. "I don't think it works like that, Sam."

Sam glared in his brother's direction. "Then I'll just have to prove it to you."

--

(Hell House)

They walked down the street in a small town with a ghost problem. At least, Sam thought it was a ghost, Dean thought it was a prank. Dean was hungry, big surprise, so they planned to hit the local pizza joint.

"Jerry!"

Arguing about whether or not it could be an angry spirit, they ignored the shout.

"Jerry Whitehead!"

Now Sam glanced around. "What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean asked. He gave up a while back trying to get Dean to call him Sam.

Sam shook his head. "Probably nothing."

"Jerry!" A guy close to Dean's age ran across the street, forcing a car to slam on its brakes. "Man, is that you?" The guy grinned broadly, slapped Dean in the shoulder. "It is you! Good to see you, Jerry. Man, of all places to cross paths, huh? It's been, what? Eight, nine years? What brings you here?"

Sam raised an eyebrow as Dean grinned. "Oh, just work. And you?" His eyes darted back and forth between them. Now what?

"The same. Yeah." The guy's head bobbed. "I'm an insurance claims adjuster. My company sent me out to check up on a couple of the deaths in that Hell House place. Heard of it?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah, a little. My brother was telling me about it. It really has a website?"

"I said it was featured on the website Hell-Hounds-Lair-dot-com," Sam interjected. Dean gave him that 'duh' look. Well, okay, so he didn't want to be forgotten. Dean could sue him for it later.

"Your brother?" The guy looked Sam up and down hard enough to make Sam feel just a little uneasy. "You never mentioned a brother. I thought you lived with foster parents?"

Dean grinned. "Not for a long time now. This is my brother, Sam."

Sam held out a hand, wondering if the guy would bother to introduce himself. "Nice to meet you, Sam." Sam did not like the way the guy said his name. "I'm Bob Reiner."

"Nice to meet you, Bob," Sam said, shaking his hand. Bob's handshake was a little too firm for Sam's liking, so he squeezed back. When Bob took his hand back, he had to shake it out. Sam heard Dean's chuckle, so he figured he would not be in the doghouse because of it. "So, you two go back a ways?"

"High school," Dean supplied, looking amused. "Bob was one of those jerk jocks."

"Jerry here was the local autoshop wizard. Anything you wanted done to your car, he could do it," Bob said.

"That sounds like him," Sam agreed. "Uh, well, we were just going to lunch." He caught Dean's eye. "Should I go grab a table?"

"Lunch sounds good," Bob said, smiling. "Where are we going?"

Something flashed across Dean's face, but it was too quick for Sam to catch. "Pizza."

"Works for me," Bob said, leading the way to the closest pizza place.

Sam tried to catch Dean's eye, figure out if he wanted to talk to this guy, but Dean just gave him a shove in the shoulder. So Sam followed, like he usually did. They took a booth and Dean slid in to sit beside him. Bob beamed at them, like the guy suddenly knew something really juicy. Sam's gut twisted. He wondered if Bob still lived in Dean's hometown. Maybe he shouldn't have put his name on those flowers for the funeral.

"You remember Joe Williams? Head of the debate team?" Bob asked before their server showed up. "He went to law school. Got a good little accidental injury practice."

"Sounds about right," Dean muttered.

Their server, a cute gal with brown hair that framed her face in curls, walked up. "What can I get you boys to drink?"

"Coke," Bob ordered.

"Beer," Dean said.

"Pitcher," Sam corrected. Even after Dean gave him a look, Sam told her, "and there's a good tip if you hurry back with it." Dean followed it up by throwing her the kind of wink that makes girls blush. She giggled and hurried away from their table.

"Think they sell it by the slice here?" Bob asked.

"God, I hope so," Dean muttered, his eyes still plastered to the girl's backend.

Sam nudged him, not so subtly. Dean's attention snapped back to the table. "What?"

"The pizza, Dean," Sam muttered.

"Oh, right." Dean picked up the menu, though Sam wondered why he bothered. Dean always ordered the same kind of pizza, no matter where they were.

The girl came back with one coke, a pitcher of beer and two frosted glasses. She set them on the table, giving Sam a meaningful look. He nodded. She would be getting that tip. But with the way Dean was looking at her, Sam knew that his brother might have another kind of tip in mind.

"Ready to order?" she asked.

Sam had not looked at the menu, but these places were almost always the same. "Small pepperoni for me."

"I'll take a medium with damn near everything you got on it," Dean said, his voice with that deep pitch that meant Sam could expect Dean and the cute waitress to disappear for fifteen or twenty minutes, especially if she kept making those eyes at Dean.

"I'll share theirs," Bob announced, handing the menus back.

Their waitress leaned way over Dean, giving him an eyeful as she took the menus. Sam leaned over to whisper. "You are not sticking me with Bob."

Dean turned to look at him, startled. "Sammy? Would I do that?"

"Do what?" Bob asked.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Never mind." He scowled.

Bob looked like he just hit paydirt. Great. Perfect. He definitely knew about the flowers. Where was their food?

Bob prattled on about people from Dean's high school and what they were doing now. "So what are you doing now, Jerry?"

"What?" Dean nearly sprayed beer all over Bob.

"I said, what do you do? You know, for a living?" Bob asked, leaning back into the bench seat.

"Uhhhh…" Dean turned to Sam, eyes pleading with him.

Yeah. Dean sucked at lying. "He's a mechanic," Sam said, eyes searching for the waitress and food.

"Here?" Bob asked, voice suspicious.

"We're on a road trip," Dean said quickly. "Sam…" his voice trailed off. "We're on a road trip." He sounded firmer the second time, like he dared Bob to question it.

Now Bob focused on Sam. "What kind of road trip?"

Pizza appeared in front of Sam. Oh, thank God. He shoved a slice in his mouth to duck answering.

"Dude, I gotta, uh, hit the head." Dean slid out of the booth. Unfortunately, since his mouth was full of pizza, Sam could not call his idiot brother back. All he could do was watch helplessly as Dean followed the cute waitress into the back, sticking him with Bob. Oh, Dean so owed him. Sam crammed the rest of this slice into his mouth. How long could he hold Bob off?

Ten minutes later, Sam decided Bob was a world class idiot and Dean was ducking him on purpose. That was forgivable. Sticking Sam with the idiot, that was not.

"So where do you think Jerry got off to?" Bob asked, leaning out of the booth to peer down the hallway toward the bathrooms.

"To get off," Sam mumbled around a mouthful of pizza.

"What?" Bob asked, looking back at Sam.

Sam shook his head. When he glanced at the back room where his brother and the waitress headed into, Sam saw him striding toward them. Sam swallowed what was still in his mouth. Dean slid into the booth with a wide grin. "Hope this didn't get cold. Man, I'm starvin'!"

"I'll bet," Sam ground out. Dean flashed him that bright, lop-sided grin that confirmed everything Sam figured Dean was up to in that back room. "So I take it I don't have to leave a big tip?"

Dean chuckled. "Nah, got that under control, little brother."

Sam rolled his eyes to more chuckling.

"Hey," Dean said with a mouthful of pizza, "what were you two talking about?"

Bob did not appear surprised by Dean talking with his mouth full. Sam guessed it was not a new bad habit. "Just telling Sam here about some of the guys we went to school with," Bob answered.

Dean rolled his eyes, sharing a look with Sam. At least he knew he owed Sam. Sam took some solace in that. Dean swallowed. "God, you've been out here boring Sammy half to death? Okay Sam, you get the backroom next time."

Sam choked on his beer. Dean slapped him hard on the back a few times until he had his breathing back under control. "Don't," he breathed, setting his beer back down, "I'll get my own women, thanks."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, right. When?"

Sam shot him that 'shut up or die' look and Dean turned back to Bob. "So, anybody we know rich and famous?" He lifted another slice to his wide open mouth. Bob stuttered only a moment before plunging back into his monologue on their graduating class.

Sam concentrated on draining their pitcher of beer. That Bob could really talk.

"Look, it's been a real slice," Dean's voice penetrated Sam's beer focus, "but we got to be going."

Sam slid out after Dean, watching his brother throw a few bills down on the table. Sam opened his wallet to add a few more dollars. Dean gave him an incredulous look that clearly said she had been tipped enough. Sam gestured to his pitcher of beer, which had nothing to do with that and was probably the only reason he had been able to put up with Bob. Dean shrugged, putting his wallet away. Sam paused at the door to make sure the right waitress collected their money.

Her hair was damp and her clothes a little disheveled, which was to be expected. Sam shook his head, following Dean and Bob outside. How did Dean do that? Maybe he should be taking notes.

"Come on, Jer," Bob was saying in a low voice, "he wouldn't be the first loser we ditched."

Sam looked over just in time to see Dean smile. It was the same smile his brother had for his latest mark in the pool hall. Sam wondered what Dean had in mind, but knowing Dean he would not have long to wonder. Dean motioned to Sam behind his back. Sam moved closer. He held a packet in his hand.

Sam palmed the packet, turned away to inspect it. It was the itching powder the bastard used on him this morning! Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He turned back to watch for his signal, having some idea of what Dean wanted him to do.

"Now, Bob," Dean stepped into Bob's personal space, forcing the man to take a step back. That malicious grin prevalent, Dean kept backing Bob up right into Sam. Dean gave him a quick nod, so Sam dumped the remaining contents of the itching powder down the back of Bob's collar. "I really don't appreciate you talking about my brother that way."

Bob's face contorted, one hand rising to pull at his collar. Dean's head tilted to one side. "Don't get me wrong. Sam can take care of himself." With one hand Dean shoved Bob across the sidewalk until his back pressed against a brick wall. "But I really don't like people I know picking on my family. Bob." The smile was gone, replaced by that look he found on Dean's face in the Benders' house.

"Come on," Sam suggested, pulling at Dean's shoulder. "He's not worth it."

Dean snarled, allowing Sam to lead him away. "Oh, and the name is Dean."

They fell into step as they headed for their motel. "You do know, that doesn't mean you're off the hook for the itching powder."

Dean chuckled, shaking out the tension from his shoulders. "Bring it on, Itchy."

"Jerk," Sam snapped, but it felt good.

"Bitch." His eyes sparkled with good humor.

"You do know, I'd kill anybody else who called me that," Sam felt the need to point it out.

"But we're family?" Dean asked, sounding confident but the fact it was phrased as a question told Sam what he needed to know.

Sam leaned over, knocking into his shoulder as they walked. "Better believe it." He cleared his throat. "Now, next time we see Dad…"

Dean groaned, rolling his eyes. Yeah, Sam had been hammering that one a lot lately. Well, he still had a full tube of Super Glue in his pocket, now all he needed for a perfect day was the opportunity to use it.


	9. Ch9:Broken Pasts & Winchester Intentions

ColorfulMess needs some exam stress relief - here it is! Thanks to everyone following this and to my awesome editors. Now we're going where many of you have been asking to go - totally AU.

**Chapter Nine: Broken Pasts and Winchester Intentions**

(AU Replacement for Ep Something Wicked)

Dean woke up and knew something was wrong. The room was too quiet, too still. He expected to see daylight coming through open curtains but the room was still dark, curtains closed.

Sam was definitely not here, and he apparently hadn't just gone for food. The glaring absence of the laptop on the motel room table was the biggest clue, unless Sam required the internet in order to pick up breakfast. A piece of paper on the nightstand caught his attention. Dean leaned against the headboard to snag the page.

Sam's almost illegible scrawl ran across the page. It was a moment before Dean could decipher it.

'Back in a couple of days. Had an errand to run. Don't worry. Sammy.'

Don't worry? Was he freaking kidding? Dean reached for his cell, intending to give Sam the chewing-out of his life, when he realized how Sam had signed the note. Sammy. Sam hated being called Sammy. Hated it. Now he signed things that way?

Dean scanned the note again. He felt a dark sense of foreboding fall on him. He called Sam's cell. No answer. Just like Dad. Yeah, that crap was genetic.

Dean sat staring at the wall for at least ten minutes before resolving to find Sam, by any means necessary. Whatever Sam was up to couldn't be good, not if he didn't want any witnesses. Sam wasn't wanted for anything yet, he could still go back to school some day, have that normal life. Unless he screwed it up now.

He needed a computer with internet access. The motel office probably had one. After a ten minute conversation, and the exchange of fifty bucks (the friggin' crook), Dean had command of the motel's computer. He accessed the website of the company Sam had cell phone service through. Next he called customer service.

"I need to activate the gps on, uh, my son's phone." Dean rattled off Sam's cell number.

"I'm sorry, but we need proper authorization for that," the woman's voice replied.

Dean ground his teeth. A parent calling wasn't authorization enough? "You see, Sammy snuck out to go to a concert, and I just have to find him."

"Boys will be boys," she said. "What kind of concert?"

He stared blankly at the far wall. What the hell kind of music did kids listen to these days? "Hannah Montana." Oh, please don't let that get back to Sam!

"That girl is way too popular," the woman said. "You know it's all going to go to her head. She does have more talent than her father, though."

"And she's a helluva lot cuter," Dean added. He mentally kicked himself for getting off-topic. "Look, Sammy is," is – is – is what? Something serious! "a diabetic. And if he doesn't get his medicine on time… Look, I'm going out of my mind here." That wasn't a lie. "Please? I'm begging you. I just have to find him."

He heard a sigh from the other end. "Probably get fired," the woman mumbled. "Do you have internet access?"

"Yeah. I'm on your website now," he replied, trying to keep the excitement and relief out of his voice.

"I'm activating it now." There was a pause. "Looks like he's in Ohio. Can you see that?"

Dean's heart sunk as he realized where Sam had to be headed. His hometown. Shit. "Yeah, I see it," he said softly.

"Hell of a way to go for a Hannah Montana concert," she said.

"Sammy's a little obsessive," he replied, hearing the tightness in his voice. "Look, thanks. I really appreciate it." Dean hung up the phone. "Oh, shit."

"Your son?" the desk clerk asked with a knowing smile. "You look good for your age."

Dean shot him a nasty look. "Thanks for the computer. I'm checking out."

The clerk shrugged. "None of my business anyway."

You got that right, Dean thought. He checked out. After packing the car and hitting the road, he wondered just how much research Sam had done on him. Sam didn't go off half-cocked. He always had a plan. Was Sam after Ella, or that bastard who beat him up over ten years ago? Knowing Sam, it would probably be both. Shit.

--

* * *

Sam hoped Dean wouldn't think he just took off again. Last time they had been yelling and screaming at each other and things had just escalated. Yeah, okay, so technically he had just taken off. Granted. But this time Sam planned on coming back. He had told Dean to stay put, that he would only be a couple of days.

His phone went off. Crap, it was Dean. Didn't his brother usually sleep in later? Sam waited, resisting the impulse to answer. Finally it rolled to voicemail. He waited, tense, for the ringing to start again and was almost disappointed when it didn't. So. This was what it felt like to be Dad.

--

* * *

Ella answered the insistent knock at the door. A tall young man, so big he barely fit in her apartment doorway, smiled politely at her. He seemed like one of those nice young men who would throw his coat over a mud puddle and help little old ladies cross the street.

"Yes?" Please let him have moved in next door.

"Are you Ella?" he asked.

"How did you know my name?" she asked, taking a step back. "Do I know you?"

He stepped into her apartment, without being asked. Ella stumbled back a few steps. The young man did not look angry, or dangerous, just curious. "Nice place you have, Ella."

He closed the door. Dark brown eyes with tiny flecks of green stared at her. They hardened as she watched. "I'm Sam. Nice to finally meet you."

"Do I know you?" she asked again, her mind searching for the name Sam. Why did that sound familiar?

"Sorry we couldn't make it to the funeral, but I guess Tom wasn't that great a friend." He shrugged as he took a step forward. "But I've really been looking forward to meeting you."

Sam. She placed it now. "You were the one who answered Jerry's phone, weren't you?" She didn't like the look on his face now. He appeared less and less of a Boy Scout the closer he came. He bordered on downright scary right now, maybe serial killer territory. But Jerry was one of the sweetest boys she knew, he wouldn't hang around with a serial killer. Would he?

He nodded, his long hair bouncing briefly in front of those cold eyes.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.

Sam took another step closer. Ella was backed against the couch, she had no place else to go. The young man's voice was almost a growl when he next spoke. "His brother."

--

* * *

Ella's phone rang. Sam tried to move between her and the phone; she hadn't answered any of his questions yet. She was pretty swift for an older woman, though. Adrenaline could do that for you. He knew he could be pretty intimidating, having used his size to his advantage since he was a teen.

She dove for the cordless phone. With phone in hand, Ella rushed around the kitchen counter to answer it. It put her in a smaller room without an exit except past him, but she did have contact with the outside world.

"Help!" she screamed into the phone. "A man just broke into my apartment!"

Sam paused, considering his options. Really, it depended on who was on the other end of the line. She listened for a moment before holding the phone out with a shaking hand. "It's for you," she said weakly.

Oh, shit.

Oh. Shit!

Sam clenched his jaw as he accepted the phone. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Hello?"

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean's voice blasted into his ear. Sam winced. "I freaking told you to leave Ella alone!"

Sam chewed his lower lip for a moment. "You said not to chew her out. I'm not." He glared at her, though. Just because he wasn't allowed to tell her exactly what he thought of her, in a tone that would no doubt make Dad proud, didn't mean he wouldn't let how he felt about her show. Besides, he still had questions.

"So what the hell are you doing there?" Dean demanded.

"How'd you know I was here?" Sam asked as he continued to glare.

"I'm a freaking mind reader. Answer the god-damned question!" Dean snapped.

Sam winced again. "I have a couple of questions, that's all," he assured big brother.

"I thought I answered all of your questions, Sam!" Dean was starting to sound a little panicked. A panicked Dean was not to be trifled with.

"You did, Dean," Sam replied in his most soothing voice. "But I have some questions you can't answer. She can."

"Sam!"

Sam shook his head as he pulled the phone away from his ear. "Sorry, Dean. I'm going to get my answers." He hung up and Ella's eyes widened comically big.

"Go sit down," he ordered, motioning to the couch.

Her eyes filled with tears which spilled down her overly made-up cheeks. Her hands wrung compulsively as they began to shake.

"Now," he growled.

She jumped at the tone, racing over to the couch like a rodent or cockroach caught in the light. Sam clenched his jaw again. He wasn't sure how much of a head start he had on Dean, but it was pretty clear his brother would be arriving at some point. He needed to get his answers, and hopefully to leave, before then. Dean would just stop him. Sam had no intention of being stopped.

Sam towered over her, doing his damnest to look as intimidating as his father. Even though he knew, without a doubt, that Dad would never hurt him, the man could still scare the crap out of him.

"Where were you when your boyfriend beat Dean up bad enough to put him in the hospital for three weeks?" he demanded.

"What?" she gasped. "He did it to someone else?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. "Jerry," he corrected himself, opening his eyes. "Where were you when he beat up Jerry?"

She bit her lower lip, eyes darting around the room like she wanted to escape. Sam kicked the couch, just to get her attention. "Where. Were. You?"

"At work," she breathed. "When I came home," her eyes darted away again, "I found him."

Sam narrowed his gaze on her. He leaned in close, so she couldn't possibly misunderstand him. "I really don't like it when people lie to me. Try again."

She swallowed hard, all color draining from her face. "I tried to stop him," she whispered. "I did. I even threatened to call the police."

"Did you do it?" he demanded, planting his hands on the back of the couch, one on each side of her. "Did you call the police?"

She leaned away from him, her back pressing hard into the couch. Tears spilled down her face. "No," she whispered. A sob escaped. "No!"

As Ella collapsed into a sobbing mess, Sam straightened up. Good. That was the very least that she deserved. He'd like to continue and turn her into a bigger psychological mess than she already was, but he was on a tight schedule now.

"Where is he?" he asked quietly, his voice drowned out by her sobs. Without raising his voice, he used the tone Dad had drilled into him from a young age. Few people could ignore it. "Where. Is. He?"

She breathed heavily, trying to regain control. Ella shook her head. "You…you don't want that. He's trouble."

Sam could not help the cold smile that crept on to his face. "As a matter of fact, I'm looking for that exact kind of trouble. And you're going to help me find it. I need a name. I need an address." He leaned in close again, causing her to shrink away. "And I need it now." Because Dean could show up any second.

She stuttered some more, made excuses, but Sam got his name. John Hanes. Jonathan Quincy Hanes. He always hated the name Quincy. John Quincy Adams was his least favorite president. All she had was an old address, a couple of years old. It would have to do. Sam drove his stolen car to the nearest internet hotspot, one of those yuppie bakeries. He didn't even have to pay to use the internet. Nice.

In less than twenty minutes, he had what could well be a current address. Beautiful. Sam pulled out of the parking lot. The asshole's apartment was close.

His cell went off. Sam knew it would be Dean without looking. After it rolled over to voicemail, he wondered if he should have answered. It started ringing again. Dean was a persistent bastard. It was one of the things Sam admired about him.

"Don't get mad," he said by way of greeting.

"Get mad?" Dean growled. "I'm way past _getting_ mad, Sam. What the hell did you say to her? She's a freaking mess!"

"Not my fault she has issues, Dean. I just asked two questions. She answered them. I left. That was it," he assured his brother.

"Yeah, right," Dean snapped. "I can imagine how you asked them. I was on the road with Dad for two years, Sam!"

Sam grinned at being compared with Dad, especially in interrogation techniques. "I'll take that as a compliment."

A snort came through the phone. "Yeah, you would. So? Did you find him?"

"Don't know yet," Sam admitted. "Why don't you go grab us a motel room? I'll meet you for a few beers later."

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean hissed. "Don't do this!"

"Why not, Dean?" Sam asked, trying to sound reasonable. "You would." With that, he hung up.

He pressed his speed dial to call Dad. "Got him?" Dad answered on the first damn ring. Yes!

"Maybe. I have an address. Don't know for sure that it's current, but it's our best bet," Sam replied.

"Give it to me, I'll meet you there. I'm about an hour out," Dad replied.

Sam grinned. It had been a while since he and Dad worked a case together, just the two of them. Already it felt a little odd without Dean, but Dean would never go for this and they both knew it. He rattled off the address and directions from memory, knowing Dad wouldn't need to write any of it down.


	10. Ch10:Vengeance is Mine,Sayeth Winchester

Okay, you asked for it, you got it! Here's the conclusion for the AU replacement for Something Wicked. I hope it meets with expectations!

**Chapter Ten: Vengeance Is Mine, Sayeth Winchester**

John gripped the steering wheel of his truck so tight his knuckles were white, showing starkly against the black plastic. He smiled despite what he and Sam intended to do. It was high time they took care of that bastard, and the fact Sam had taken the initiative here…well, it made him proud. That was a crappy thing to be proud of, wasn't it? Vengeance? Or was he proud of the fact that Sam felt protective of Dean, like a real brother? That maybe John did something right for a change?

He pressed down harder on the accelerator. John had wanted to meet this bastard for a while. He had never been able to get Dean to open up about some elements of his past, but he had never done a really thorough research on the kid either. Clearly Sam had. Another reason to be proud of his boy.

The hour to get to the correct neighborhood, easy with Sam's precise directions, seemed to take forever. He parked down the block from the address. John sauntered down the suburban sidewalk casually, eyes sharp. Sam lounged against a building he passed. His son fell into step with him as though they had never separated.

"Spot him?" he asked, voice low, when Sam was close enough to hear.

"Maybe. He's still getting his mail here." Sam's voice had an edge to it that John found both disturbing and comforting. Comforting in the fact he knew he could depend on Sam to do what was necessary. Disturbing in that, in this case, he realized he could depend on Sam to do what John considered necessary. There would no questioning his orders this time, no discussion of right versus wrong, unless it was used to scare the crap out of this asshole. That might be a good idea. "Want to play bad cop – good cop?" he asked.

"Nah," Sam said with a snort that sounded an awful lot like Dean, "how about bad cop – worse cop."

John shot his son a hard look. "Yeah. That'll work."

Sam nodded in response. "Apartment seventeen. Second floor. One door, two windows in the front and a small one in the bathroom, but it looks too small for him to get through. He's not a little guy, Dad."

John nodded as they turned into the apartment complex. "I figured. It'd probably take a big guy to take out Dean."

"Sure, now," Sam snapped, his voice harder than John had ever heard. "Maybe not at fifteen."

John paused before mounting the stairs that led to apartment seventeen. He met Sam's eyes. "He was fifteen?"

Sam glared in response. "You think only adults get beat up, Dad?"

John shook his head with a deep sigh. "I didn't think…" He swallowed hard. "It didn't really occur to me."

Sam gave him a sad smile. "It's amazing how much I hated my childhood before meeting Dean, and how much I appreciate it now."

John rested his hand on Sam's shoulder. He didn't know whether to feel grateful for the change in attitude, or guilty that he hadn't realized Dean had been abused. "You ready for this?" he asked gently.

"I'll be the bad cop," Sam replied with a curt nod. "You pull off worse cop better than I do."

"Have you and Dean pulled this one before or something?" John asked as he headed up the stairs.

Sam chuckled from behind him. "You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" John glanced back into Sam's amused face. "I'm not telling," he added in a singsong voice.

"You're spending way too much time with Dean," he replied.

"Yeah, I've been wondering why you changed his name," Sam said as John peeked through the open slit in the curtains. "He's not home."

John nodded, pulling out his lockpick kit. "I thought you understood that by now," he replied as he inserted his tools in the lock.

"Oh, not the Winchester part," Sam said a little too casually. "I meant the Dean part."

John blew out another sigh as the lock turned. "Guess I should've seen that one coming, huh?"

Sam nodded as John opened the door. Instantly they were hit with the smells of stale and rotting food and air freshener. Lemon. John remembered Dean refusing to stay at one motel that used lemon air freshener. Yahztee! "This is it."

"You sure?" Sam asked, closing the door behind them.

"Definitely," John replied. "Let's clean up."

Sam gave him the 'you've got to be kidding me' look, but he didn't say anything. John found some trash bags in the kitchen and started throwing everything away. Anything that was paper or food-based went in the bags, even dirty dishes. He and Sam tossed their full trash bags in the asshole's bedroom. Now that the smell of the apartment had improved dramatically, John rubbed his hands in anticipation.

Sam paced nervously now that they had nothing to do but wait, peering out the curtains periodically.

"Relax, son. We can wait as long as it takes." A distinctly guilty look crossed Sam's face. "What?"

Sam cleared his throat nervously. "Dean's here."

"Here?" John raised one eyebrow at his son. His younger son. "What do you mean by 'here'?"

Sam rubbed his hands on his jeans. "In town. He followed me."

"Damn it, Sam," John growled. "Did he steal a car?"

Sam glared at him. "You think I took the Impala? Dad, I don't have a death wish. I stole a car."

John stared at Sam for a moment. "Death wish?"

After a moment, a grin broke on Sam's face. John followed it with a chuckle, which caused Sam to chuckle. "Yeah, you're right," John replied.

The shared moment dissipated quickly. "Name?" Sam demanded.

John rolled his eyes. Here it came. Typical. "Sam, do you really want to do this now?"

"Yeah, actually I do," Sam said, stepping closer. "Why Dean? You could've called him Jerry Winchester. You made the driver's license. You picked the name."

"Where did you see this guy?" John asked, wondering how long he would have to put up with this inquisition.

"Came out of the apartment and got into his car. Neighbors say he eats out every night, usually comes back within a couple of hours." Sam checked his watch. "If they're right, we have maybe twenty minutes. Plenty of time for explaining why you changed his frigging name."

John decided to try for humor. "You really wanted a brother named Jerry?"

Sam's glare hardened. O-kay, maybe humor was a bad idea.

"Dad," Sam growled low. "I never even wanted a brother." Wait, he didn't?

They heard the key in the lock at the same time. That thought flew from his mind as Sam rushed to stand behind the door and John took a seat in the asshole's easy-chair. Why did these guys always have an easy-chair? Were they unionized or something?

A large man with a crooked nose opened the door. He blinked in surprise at the light on in the apartment. Then he stared at John for a moment before checking the number on the door. With a smile, he walked in.

"What is this? Did Joey send you or something? I told him I'd have the money next Friday." The guy looked way too confident considering what was about to happen.

John motioned with one hand. Sam slammed the door shut. The guy rolled his eyes as he turned partially so his back wasn't to either one of them. "Look guys, whatever Joey is paying you, next Friday I can double it. Honest."

"Are you Jonathon Quincy Hanes?" Sam demanded. John was damned impressed with how official he sounded.

A confused look came over the man's face. "Joey didn't send you?"

John shook his head slowly. "We don't know any Joey," he said slowly. "Do we, partner?"

Sam gave the asshole a shove closer to John. "Never heard of him."

Hanes looked around, more confusion settling in. "How long have you been here?"

John smiled. "I don't care for messes. You're a mess, Hanes." John stood. Hanes was about his height but probably had twenty pounds on him. John would bet that twenty pounds wasn't muscle. "My partner here and I clean up messes."

Hanes chuckled. "Okay, who put you up to this? Was it Henry? I'll strangle that asshole."

John motioned to the chair. "Care to sit? It's pretty comfortable."

He noticed a bead of sweat on Hanes' temple. Good, they were getting to him.

Then there was the sound of someone beating on the door. "Sam! Damn it, Sam, you come out right now!"

John shot his son a hard look. "You don't cover your tracks worth a shit, son," he said with a sigh. Sam shot him a nasty look. "Go on, before he kicks it in." John pulled out his revolver, pointed it at Hanes. "I thought I told you to sit."

Hanes' eyes widened as he sat in the chair. Sam pulled the door open to reveal a seriously pissed off Dean. Dean stormed in, eyes only on Sam. He backed Sam right up to the far wall, one hand on the younger man's chest. "God damn it! I told you not to do this! I told you he's not worth it! What the hell are you doing here?" With one hand he shoved Sam against the wall.

"Dean," John tried to get the older boy's attention.

"Do you listen to a freaking word I say?" Dean demanded. Even his ears were red.

"Dean," John called out again.

"Well?" Dean shoved Sam against the wall again. Sam motioned towards John. John backed up, careful to cover Hanes as he reached for the open door. "Dean!" he snapped as he slammed the door closed.

Dean spun around, startled. His eyes widened as he took in John. "Dad?"

Hanes glared at Dean. "Jerry? That you?"

Dean took a faltering step toward John, his eyes darting to Hanes and a frown creasing his face.

"Dean," John said, loud in order to direct his attention, "don't pick on your brother."

Dean's frown morphed into a steely glare. "You shouldn't be here, either."

John almost smiled at that. This he could handle. "Are you questioning me, son?" he asked softly.

Dean shot a look at Sam before squaring his shoulders. "Yes, sir. I am."

Now that was a surprise. It wasn't really the right time for surprises. Dean didn't exactly sound confident about it, but it was the most the kid had ever talked back. John tried to cover his reaction. "And what do you want us to do, Dean?" he asked instead. "Just walk away? We know it was him."

"We know he put you in the hospital for three weeks," Sam said in a similar coercing voice. That tidbit was like a sucker punch to John's gut. Sam had neglected to mention that before. Then Sam spoke in a voice that caused goosebumps to race up John's arms. "Nobody messes with a Winchester."

Hanes made a move, like he might stand. John snapped his attention back to the object of this discussion. He motioned with his gun to for the man to remain seated. Hanes held both hands up in the classic sign of surrender.

Dean groaned as he rolled his eyes, not even bothering to recognize that they were holding Hanes here. "Sam, I didn't even have a family back then. This is old news, Mister Peabody and the Way-Back machine old."

Sam glared at Hanes. "Not to me, it's not."

"Me either," John agreed. "Let's waste him."

"Dad!" Dean shouted, more angry than anxious.

"I agree with Dean, Dad. We can't waste him," Sam chimed in. John sighed heavily, pretending that listening to them was a heavy burden. "Let's just push him off the balcony. We're only on the second floor. Won't kill him."

"Oh, God," Dean moaned. "What kind of family did I join?"

"Regrets?" John asked, already suspecting the answer.

"No, sir," Dean replied instantly. "No regrets."

He could hear the smile in the older boy's voice. Some serious sweat poured off Hanes' face now.

"Dad, I don't want Sam here. He's still got a shot at college after all this is over. This could blow it for him." He felt Dean's hand on his gun-arm. Dean didn't push his arm down, but he did squeeze gently. Sam's silence was all the corroboration that John needed, Sam still planned on going back to school.

"I guess we can finish this up another time. When this asshole doesn't know we're coming," John agreed. "I'd hate for family to come between Sam and college."

He was bitter. So what? Who wouldn't be?

"Dad?" Sam asked as John reached for the doorknob. "You never said about the balcony."

John smiled to himself. Sam was wrong. He did worse cop really well. "Sam, put that duct tape to good use, son."

--

* * *

Dean watched with a mixture of excitement and abject horror as Dad and Sam subjected Jonathon Hanes to some of the most vicious psychological…stuff…he had ever heard of. Jonathon had to sit, duct-taped to his favorite chair with a dirty sock stuffed in his mouth, while they openly discussed torture techniques and methods, dismissing each one for some stupid reason. Some were too messy, others too bloody, a couple were so painful they said they were sure the neighbors would alert the cops, even in this neighborhood. Jonathon looked about ready to pass out an hour into this. On one deep level, it disturbed Dean that anyone would think enough of him to go to these lengths. Everywhere else, though, he just felt accepted and truly part of the family.

So this is what that whole "don't mess with a Winchester" thing was about. He had wondered. On that drive to Nebraska, when Dean was dying, he had heard Sam mumble that more than once. Now he realized Sam had been referring to the person who tipped them off about LeGrange in the first place. Before they even arrived in the right state, Sam had been planning what he would do to his informant if the information was wrong. Huh. Sam cared back then, too.

Dean watched the show from his position leaning against the wall. Although Dad and Sam were pretty inventive, this was getting old.

"Look," he interrupted a supposedly heated discussion on hot knives versus poisoned needles, "this has been a real education, but it's getting kind of late. Do we drop him off the balcony or what?" He spread his hands wide. "Cos, you know, I don't really care. You two have the problem with him, not me."

"Jerry?" Hanes mumbled around the sock.

"Or we could go dig up a werewolf or haunted lake some place, feed him to it," Dean suggested. Did Hanes just get even paler? Ah hell, he forgot! The dude was seriously superstitious.

"You're the one in a hurry," Sam replied reasonably. "The balcony would be the fastest thing."

"Nah," Dean interrupted, grinning. "Dad, hex him."

Dad turned to look at him, his confusion clear. Dean gave Dad a little wink. "Go on, I know you know all that voodoo stuff. Just hex him so we can get some dinner. Our hands will be clean, Hanes won't be able to report anything other than a B-and-E, like there aren't enough of those around here, and we can still hit my favorite restaurant before it closes." He wondered why he didn't think of this earlier, it was perfect.

Dad winked back. "Good plan, son. Sam?" Dad turned to wait for Sam's approval.

Sam nodded slowly, casting a suspicious glance Dean's way. "Yeah, okay, if that's what Dean wants." Sam didn't sound completely convinced. He clearly wanted to do some real damage.

Dad began reciting something in Latin. Jonathon squirmed in his chair, eyes wide and horrified. Dad looked pretty satisfied with himself as he stood up. Dad motioned to both of them to follow. Dean hung back for a moment.

Jonathon tried to talk through the gag, probably begging for Dean to take the hex off. Knowing Dad, it was actually an exorcism ritual or something.

He smiled at the man who once beat him so bad he lost almost a year's worth of memories. "You're lucky I showed up when I did," he said softly, leaning down into Jonathon's face to be certain he was heard. "Between those two, I can promise you that you wouldn't have been in the hospital for three weeks." Jonathon's eyes widened and Dean chuckled. "Nah, I don't think they would've killed you, but I figure you would've been sucking your dinner through a straw for months."

He stepped back to leave when he was hit with an inspiration. "But who am I to go against my family that way?"

Hitting a man while he was tied up was very unsporting, but so was beating a teenager while he was lying on the ground begging for his life. Dean saw Jonathon's jaw give way, heard the pop of bone breaking, felt the satisfying shift of the man's face. He rubbed his sore knuckles as he headed for the door, because the ache felt that good. He knew from experience that his hand would heal quickly, even though Dean would like it to feel like this for the rest of his life.

He glanced back at Jonathon's sagging jaw. Yeah, that looked damned painful. Dean grinned. "I always thought Quincy was a stupid name," he told the man who was once the center of his every fear.

"Me, too," Sam said as Dean pulled the door closed.

"So. Are we calling an ambulance or anything?" Dean asked as he followed Dad downstairs.

"Tomorrow," Dad and Sam answered together. Dean shook his head at them.

"So where is this favorite place of yours?" Dad asked.

"I'll bet it has hot waitresses," Sam chimed in, clearly in high spirits.

"Dad, I'm parked right behind the truck. You two can follow me," he said as he turned down the sidewalk.

When he reached the car, Dean had the added surprise of Sam jumping into the passenger seat. "I thought you rode with Dad?"

Sam shook his head. "Stole a car. Dad met me here." Little brother gave him an anxious look. "You pissed?"

"I will be if you keep taking off on me," Dean replied evenly, trying to sound serious. The problem was, he was in a really good mood. "Sam? Do we have to call it in tomorrow? Think we could leave him there, tied up in his own mess, for a couple of days?"

Sam laughed, filling the car with what had been missing the whole anxiety filled drive to Ohio. "I don't have a problem with that. And I'm sure Dad will be happy to leave it up to us."

Dean grinned back. "Cool. You're gonna love this place, Sammy. I think bust size is on the job application."


	11. Ch11:The Article

Okay, technically I guess I could've just stopped at the last chapter, but the next few chapters were just itching to get out. So here goes! Hope you enjoy! (Getting back to some real eps.)

**Chapter Eleven: The Article**

(Dead Man's Blood - prologue)

Dean crunched on some bacon while Sam worked on his short stack. It had surprised him last night when Dean didn't just drop off into a hard sleep like he usually did. Instead they stayed up swapping stories and making guesses at what Jonathon Hanes was thinking now. Sometime in the early morning Sam had finally dropped off. When he woke, he found that someone had covered him up to sleep. Someone being Dean, obviously.

Dad slid into the booth across from them, rubbing his face. "What's good here, Dean?"

"E'erthing," Dean muttered through his mouthful of breakfast.

Dad scowled a little, probably at Dean's lack of table manners, before sharing a sympathetic look with Sam. Sam chuckled as he sliced off another hunk of pancake.

"Don't look at me," Sam countered, "you're the one who adopted him."

Dean shot him a sharp look, the kind that would freeze the average person in his tracks. Dad grunted, clearly unimpressed. "I'm not the one choosing to share a room with the snoring machine."

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed, glaring between them. "I'm right here!"

Sam shared a laugh with Dad at Dean's expense. It was like a huge weight had been lifted off of them. The waitress returned to take Dad's order while Dean stewed over his breakfast, though Sam noticed the sparkle of life in his brother's eyes. Dean wasn't really mad, he was soaking up every second of this.

Sam shook his head at Dad as the waitress turned away. "That's nothing. Try getting stuck with one of his old classmates while he sneaks off with the waitress."

Dad chuckled over his fresh coffee. "Old classmate? When was this?"

"Sam," Dean growled, sounding anything but amused.

"We were checking out an urban legend about a house that killed people and ran into this idiot who knew Jerry." Sam grinned as Dean squirmed in discomfort. "And the dude stuck me with the idiot to go have a little fun in the back room." Sam knocked into Dean's shoulder. "You seriously owe me, jerk."

"Try and collect, bitch," Dean snapped back, but there was no heat in it.

Sam glanced up to find Dad studying them curiously.

"What?" Dean asked, leaning forward. "Dad?"

Dad shook his head, shifting to look around the restaurant. "Nothing. It's not important."

Dean shrugged at Sam as he shoveled another double sized mouthful of food into that great gaping maw. Honestly, Dean's eating habits were…colorful. Especially when he talked with his mouth open. Sam chuckled to himself over it.

"Jerry!" A squeal pierced the room and Sam felt Dean shudder beside him.

"Oh, shit," Dean mumbled. "Sam, hide me." He ducked behind Sam.

"I think it's a little late for that, son," Dad rumbled, looking interested.

"Jerry, it is you!" the female voice squealed again. A woman, probably Dean's age, stood at their table bouncing like a schoolgirl. Sam watched appreciatively, because she bounced really nicely. Really nicely.

Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. It's me."

"Jill!" she practically shouted. "Remember me? Jill? We had government together, senior year. All those study dates?"

Sam choked on his orange juice. That definitely sounded like Dean. He glanced over just in time to see a satisfied look cross his brother's face. Sam shared another look with Dad, who appeared on the verge of laughing.

"Right. Jill." Dean cleared his throat again. "Good to see you."

"You too." She beamed at him. The smile faded from her face. "It was a real shame about Tom."

"Yeah." Dean shifted on the bench seat, his shoulder coming into contact with Sam's. "I guess."

"I went to the funeral." Jill slid in to sit next to Dad. Dad looked like he would rather she didn't but he didn't say anything, just gave Sam a questioning look. Sam glared back. If the man bothered to answer his phone on occasion, he would know these things. "It was so nice of you to send those flowers. Tom's parents said you two hadn't been particularly close in years, so it really meant a lot to them."

"Flowers," Dean repeated. His fingertips drummed on the table. "I sent flowers."

Sam glanced away. So he left out one or two little bitty details. Big deal.

Jill nodded, her whole upper body bouncing along with her head. It was quite a sight. Sam forgot for a moment what she was talking about, and why he would rather not have this conversation.

"So who is Sammy?" Jill's eyelids fluttered. "New girlfriend?" she asked with a pout.

Dean's drumming stopped. "How do you know about Sammy?" He shot Sam a suspicious glare.

The menus here were really well done, Sam noticed. Nice, thick plastic so they couldn't be ruined by spills.

Jill laughed. "You put her name on the card, silly. Everybody was talking about it."

The salt shakers had rice in them, to absorb moisture. Smart.

Now Dean's fork clanked against the edge of his plate. Sam cringed a little at the sound, until Dad reached over to snatch the fork away. Jill watched them all, but Sam doubted she actually understood any of it.

"Jill, darlin'," Dad said in his rich, deep voice, "I would love to hear some stories about De-uh, Jerry. Would you mind if we stepped outside for a moment?"

"Well, I really came over to talk to Jerry," she said.

Sam could feel Dean's eyes boring through his skull.

"Just for a minute," Dad said, shoving her gently out of the booth. He took her by the elbows and steered her away from the table.

Did pepper shakers ever get moisture issues?

"Sam," Dean said in a soft voice. "You sent flowers? After I told you that I didn't care?"

Sam shrugged, trying to avoid Dean's eyes. "I, uh, just thought that Tom's parents would appreciate it. That's all."

"Sammy?" Dean chuckled, which caused Sam to finally look up. "You put Sammy, not Sam, on the card?"

Sam shrugged again, rolling his eyes. "It's not like you ever call me Sam."

Dean chuckled again. "Well, I'm sure not going to now."

"So." Sam nodded in defeat. "This is what it feels like to shoot yourself in the foot."

"Uh, thanks." Sam really looked at Dean, to be sure he was serious. "Really. I wasn't thinking of Tom's parents. Guess I got a little selfish."

Sam stared at him for a moment. "Dean, you are the least selfish person I know. I'm just glad you're not mad at me for it."

"Nah. I don't get mad." Dean flashed a broad grin. "I get even." Dean gave him a shove. "Go get Dad already. He's probably at his limit with Jill. She's best experienced in silence." His eyebrows danced a little over his eyes.

Sam shook his head as he headed toward the entrance. He could see Dad and Jill just outside the door. Sam motioned through the glass that it was safe to come back in. Dad looked relieved as he opened the door.

"Sammy? Everything all right?" Sam heard the undercurrent of concern.

"Sure, Dad. No problem," he assured his father.

"Sammy?" Jill squealed. She really had an annoying voice. "You're Sammy? Oh my god, it wasn't a girlfriend!" Both hands covered her mouth as she stopped in the middle of the aisle. One hand dropped away to motion to Sam. "So you're…you're…?" Her voice trailed off, asking him to fill in the blank.

"Brothers," Sam snapped as Dad grinned.

"God, can't you tell by listening to them?" Dad asked as he shoved by to rejoin Dean at the table.

Sam grinned as he followed, leaving annoying-girl staring blankly at Dean.

"What's wrong with her?" Dean demanded, gesturing at Jill while Sam retook his seat.

Sam shrugged. "Something about Sammy not being your girlfriend."

Dean glared at him and Dad in turn. A low growl came from him before he spoke again. "This is exactly why I didn't want to come back here. There is no way these people would ever understand."

"Understand what?" Dad asked, eyeing his steaming eggs appreciatively. The waitress must have delivered them when Sam went to get Dad.

"Everything all right?" Their waitress appeared out of nowhere. "Can I get ya anything else?"

"Newspaper?" Sam asked.

She winked at him. "No problem, sugar. I'll just add it to your bill. Back in a sec."

Sam noticed Dean watch her sashay off. He figured when the blood returned to the higher functioning brain his brother would continue that rant. The waitress returned with the paper and left again before Dean regained the power of speech.

"Understand this!" Dean hissed, his voice soft. "Us," he clarified when neither Sam nor Dad said anything.

"What about us?" Sam asked as he sliced off more pancake.

"What's to understand, son?" Dad asked, stirring hot sauce into his egg.

Dean let out a long breath, slamming both palms on the table. "Neither one of you is this dense!" His voice rang through the restaurant. Sam guessed his brother was over the urge to be invisible in his hometown. Good thing, too, because every head in the place turned to look at them.

Like Dad, Sam ignored them all, pretending not to notice. He continued their conversation as if Dean weren't shouting.

"Dense? Dude, is that any way to talk to your favorite little brother?" Sam sipped his coffee. It had cooled way too much. The only thing it had going for it in the first place was that it was hot. He glanced around to flag down their waitress.

"Dean," Dad said in that rigid, ultimate authority voice, "I believe you owe us an apology."

Sam glanced over. Dean's eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. "Ap-apology?"

"Accepted," Sam said with a nod. "Dad?"

Dad nodded too. "Works for me. Finish your breakfast, Dean. You get cranky when you're hungry."

Sam finally caught their waitress' attention. He held up his coffee cup. She rushed over with a fresh pot. As she freshened up all their coffee cups, Sam glared at the fact his brother was not eating.

"Dude, you feeling okay? You're not running a fever, are you?" Sam raised a hand to feel Dean's forehead.

Dean swatted him away with the death-glare. Sam grinned at the sight. Like Dean would hurt him.

"I'm fine," he said in a tight voice. "Just…" Dean took a deep breath, held it for a moment, let it out slow. "Just finish eating."

Sam handed part of his newspaper to Dad to read while they ate. The rest of their meal was in relative silence, an occasional growl from Dean the only interruption. Dad caught his eye once, a smirk plastered across his hard features. It was all Sam could do not to laugh. Dean eventually took the paper out of Sam's hands to rescue the comics. He handed the rest back. Sam tilted his head to one side in apology. Dean gave him a half-smile 'no problem.'

As he read over an article about a loner attacked in his own home, Sam must have made some kind of noise of interest.

"Find something, Sammy?" Dean's voice interrupted the article.

"Maybe." Sam laid the paper on the table. He pointed out the article. "This old guy was attacked in his cabin. At first the authorities thought it was wild animals, but now they found signs of burglary. Came in through the roof."

"Let me see," Dad demanded. Sam pushed the paper to his father. Dad picked it up. "Damn it." Sam glanced over at Dean, who shrugged. "Damn it!" Dad slammed the article back on the table, making their plates clank and Dad's coffee slosh over the sides of his cup.

"Dad?" Dean asked softly, which Sam didn't dare do himself.

"Daniel Elkins. They got him." Dad's eyes went cold as he stared at them, weighing a decision. "Are you boys up to a road trip?"

They didn't even need to think about it. "Yes, sir." Their voices blended, Sam imagined they were even sharing the same thoughts. Sam's whole body thrummed with excitement as he followed Dad and Dean outside after breakfast. They were going hunting with Dad. After everything he and Dean had been through the past year, surely Dad would see him as an adult. He would get that affirmation now. He would.

* * *

Dean's cell went off a few hours outside of town. "Yeah? … Oh crap, Ella. Sorry, I forgot to call. We had to leave town. … Yeah, me and Sammy and Dad. It's for work. … Still none of your business, and yes I do too have a dad. … It's the miracle of adoption, Ella. … How the hell do you know Jill? And what did she say?"

Dean shot Sam a worried look. Sam chuckled, he had a pretty good idea what Jill might have said.

"Jill's an airhead. Don't worry about her," Dean insisted.

"Want to pull over so I can drive?" Sam suggested. Dean was starting to swerve in their lane.

Dean gave him a nasty look as he said, "Yeah, Sammy is the guy who _interrogated_ you."

Sam pointed out the curve in the road Dean was about to drive through. He dropped the phone to grab the wheel with both hands and steer them safely. Sam picked up the opportunity, uh, phone.

"Sam here," he said lightly, as if just yesterday he had not scared the living daylights out of the woman.

"What the hell are you doing there?" she demanded. Wow, Ella could sound really pissed when she wanted.

"I live here," Sam replied, keeping his voice light and cheerful. They veered safely around the curve.

"What kind of work do you have Jerry doing? It isn't burying bodies, is it? Are you and your father serial killers?"

Sam chuckled before he realized that she wasn't that far off. Technically, they dug up bodies for a living. "Nope, nothing like that. What do you do?"

"I'm considering calling the police, reporting that you've taken Jerry against his will," she snapped.

Sam did laugh at that one. "He's not here against his will. Hell, he's driving!" He turned to thrust the phone back at Dean. "You talk to her, she's nuts."

Dean rolled his eyes as he took the phone back. "Ella? … Wait a minute. … Ella! Shut up! … Thank you." Dean took a deep breath. "What I do is still none of your business. Who I'm with, also none of your business. And I think I'm a much better judge of character than you are, so you can keep those opinions to yourself."

The big car slowed as Dean pulled over. He thrust it into park before opening his door. Confused, Sam watched his brother walk around to his door. Dean waved him over. Sam slid behind the wheel and pulled the driver's side door closed as Dean sat down listening intently to the phone.

"No kidding? Taped to his chair?" Dean asked. Sam bit the inside of his cheek as he put the car in drive. "Did he say who did it?"

Sam's eyes darted to his brother's ashen face. Yeah, he didn't really think about that part, either. That asshole knew Dean's real name, and they had been spotted in town. Shit!

Dean sagged back against the seat. "Well, with all the crap he's into, it isn't really surprising, is it?"

Sam let out the breath he had been holding. Maybe they did scare the asshole enough after all.

"Come on, Ella," Dean was saying, "do you really think I'd hang around people who would do that?"

Not a real denial, all she would have to say is 'yes' and Dean would probably admit everything.

"They're good people. Sam was just, uh, having a bad day."

Sam snorted, speeding up to pass a car. Dad was so far ahead of them now he was having trouble seeing the truck. "More like an awesome day," he muttered. Dean smacked him in the shoulder for that one.

"We'll see. I don't know why you'd want to meet Sam again," Dean said, his forehead creasing.

"Probably because she thinks I'm your girlfriend," Sam suggested. The hit to his shoulder actually hurt this time. Sam laughed, massaging his shoulder. "Dude, you started that crap."

Dean's eyes blasted daggers at him as Sam returned his attention to the road. He could just make out Dad's truck now.

"I don't know. I'll ask. … Yeah, I'll let you know in a few days. Bye, Ella." Dean was quiet for a few minutes, just long enough for Sam to wonder.

"You'll ask what?" he demanded.

Dean cleared his throat as he slipped his cell into a pocket. "You won't like it."

Sam pressed harder on the accelerator to pass another car. They made up a lot of lost road while Dean was on the phone. "Try me."

He felt rather than saw Dean shift around to look at him. "Ella is inviting all of us over for Thanksgiving."

Sam froze. For a moment the road, other cars, everything in the world outside of the car, disappeared. "Thanksgiving?" he breathed.

"She knows it's my favorite holiday. What do you think? Dad wouldn't come, would he?" Dean sounded so much like a little kid, Sam had to look over to be certain his brother still sat beside him.

"I don't know," Sam admitted slowly. "November isn't exactly a great month for us."

"She's a great cook," Dean went on, like it was Sam who needed to be convinced. "Her pumpkin pie is the absolute best. Oh, and you won't believe her stuffing! I swear, the turkey is so good it's orgasmic."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Does it always have to be orgasmic with you?"

Dean snorted. "You'll never know, little brother."

"Thank God." They were within a reasonable distance of Dad's truck again.

"So?" Dean asked in that same pitiful voice. "Will you help me talk to Dad?"

Crap, crap, crap, crap. "Yeah. I'll help you talk to Dad." Sam cut his eyes over to Dean's relieved face. "But I won't make any promises. November usually sucks."


	12. Ch12:The Boys

I know it's been a little while, but this ep is ready to go!

**Chapter Twelve :The Boys  
**

**(Dead Man's Blood - Pt 1)**

John drove with the sound of Dean and Sam's voices from breakfast ringing in his ears. Since finding Dean, he never believed that the boys could get along, that they could stand to be on the road together. It had even felt safe, knowing that they would never find each other, never discover what he had done. Was he wrong. They appeared to be more of a team than he had ever been with either of them. It wasn't just that they seemed to be related; they were tighter than most family members could be.

John led them to Elkins' mail drop. The letter he found there was exactly what he expected, and that pissed him off. They went to Elkins' place afterwards to search for the Colt, but all they found was the box. The sanctimonious bastard had had it all this time. That gun was the whole basis for their falling out. If the man had just let him use it…

No use in crying over lost opportunities. They had to get that gun back. John picked a motel and secured a single room. It only had two beds, but he had no intention of all of them sleeping at the same time. The first thing he did was pull Dean aside and give him an assignment. He had already decided what must have taken out Elkins. If they were going up against vampires, there was only one thing that could slow those bastards down – dead man's blood.

John shoved Dean out the door the instant Sam disappeared into the bathroom. After experiencing just how protective Sam was, he preferred not to start an argument the moment they were hunting together again. Besides, obtaining a little dead man's blood was a one-man job, for which Dean was overqualified.

Sam stepped out of the bathroom. John pretended to be absorbed in Elkins' journal while Sam's eyes scoured the room. "Where's Dean?"

"Errand," John replied flippantly. "Shouldn't take long."

"An errand?" Sam demanded. Yep, he figured this was coming. Better to get it out of the way before Dean came back. "Where did you send him?"

"He's fine, Sam. Dean doesn't need a babysitter." John turned a page in the journal.

"About that," Sam pulled over a chair to sit facing him. "Why Dean?"

John heaved a sigh, setting the journal down. "Honestly? I don't know. Are we really doing this?" Sam nodded. John rubbed his tired eyes. "Okay. I liked the kid, all right?" He looked at his son. "Got to admire someone who, at the age of five, walked four miles for help after being mauled by a Wendigo. And he's a smartass." He chuckled, shrugging and spreading his hands wide. "I guess that's a combination I just couldn't pass up."

Sam did smile then. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But you still didn't answer the question."

John frowned at his son. "I thought I did. 'Why Dean?'"

"Why did you change his name to Dean, not why did you hook up with him. I pretty much had the second part figured out anyway," Sam said slowly, as if John were being slow or dense about this on purpose. Smart kid.

John shook his head, picking the journal up. "Pass. Next question."

"Fine." He heard paper crinkle. Curious, John looked up. Sam held a small notepad and a pen. "Okay. Next question is, uh, hang on." Sam flipped past a few pages. "Oh, right. Here we go."

John groaned, dropping his chin to his chest. Sam had a list of questions? "You're not serious?"

The glare he received more than answered that question. If Dean didn't get his ass back here, soon, there would be more than questions to put up with.

"Why didn't you show up in Lawrence? I know Dean called you. He thinks you might have come if I called, you know." Sam glared at him.

John decided not to lie. At least, not completely. "It wouldn't have mattered who called, I would have done the same thing."

Sam's face hardened, but he gave a tight nod before dropping his eyes back to the notepad. "When Dean was… After his heart attack, you didn't even call." Sam looked downright pissed now. "Dad?"

Now would be a good time to lie. "When I heard your message I headed for the truck. The very next message was the one you left about the reaper. I didn't think you needed me anymore." Yeah, so there were a few days between those messages. At the time he was preoccupied with a frigging demon. It wasn't like the boys needed to deal with that too.

Sam snorted through his nose and mumbled something that sounded like "still could've called", but he did not comment. John did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. His son made a mark in the notepad before continuing the inquisition.

"Did Dean call you when I was taken by the Benders?" Sam asked, pen poised above the pad.

"You were taken?" John's mind was in a whirl now. "By what? What the hell's a Bender?"

"Forget it," Sam said darkly as he made another mark on the notepad.

"He's wearing the amulet I gave you." Sam stared him in the eye. "What's up with that?"

John swallowed kind of hard. "When I figured out that the demon was on the move again, I decided I had to leave without him. I didn't want him to be completely defenseless…" John shrugged, unable to really justify his actions.

"So you left him the amulet?" Sam asked. He shook his head as he looked down at the notepad again. John couldn't tell if Sam approved or not. After a final glance Sam closed the notebook but did not put it away.

"Sam?" John leaned forward. His son was behaving a bit out of character. "What is it?"

Sam's Adam's apple bobbed a few times before he answered. "I took off on him, too. Once." He slouched in the chair. "Almost got him killed, Dad, because I wasn't there. You…you can't just take off." His hair bounced wildly with the hard head shake. "It doesn't help anybody. It just puts people in danger."

"When was this?" John demanded, alarmed. What the hell had been going on?

Sam sighed. "Remember when you called, to tell us to back off?" John nodded. "You called from a payphone in California. I went to find you. I tried to talk Dean into coming with me, but he was determined to follow orders."

"Never figured that out," John mused. Sam stopped to watch him carefully. "I mean about why he likes to take orders." John shrugged. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"So what happened?" John asked, determined to get back on track.

"I was in a bus station, ticket in hand, when I realized I couldn't go through with it," Sam replied.

"Why not?" John rubbed his thumb along the edge of Elkins' journal. It felt smooth from years of wear and use, in direct contrast to the hard truths it contained.

Sam's eyes darted away, like he couldn't stand to look at John that moment. "Because he didn't answer his phone for three hours." He fiddled with the small notebook. "Dean always answers his phone, if he knows it's me."

The last sentence was barely above a whisper and the words stabbed. Clearly John did a better job selecting a Dean than he thought possible. Not that he went out looking for a Dean. Not that he offered to take half a dozen guys hunting with him before running across this diamond in the rough, this perfect broken match. And he hadn't looked for a Dean because he was lonely, either. No. He hunted alone for years before Sam was old enough to hunt with him. He had been hunting alone for nearly a year now. John was fine. The only reason he offered to take the boys with him this time was because it was Elkins and the possibility of finding the Colt. With something like that around, he needed to have dependable men to watch his back. Who could be better than his boys?

His boys.

That still sounded strange, but good.

"Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?" Sam asked in a hesitant voice.

John stared at the non sequitor. "What?"

"Ella invited us all for Thanksgiving. I guess it's Dean's favorite holiday." Sam shrugged.

"Probably should've guessed that," John offered. "Food."

"So? You going?" Sam asked. Apparently Sam had already made up his mind.

John shrugged, picking up the journal again. "Can't promise that, Sam." He looked over the top of the book. "But I can promise to try."

Sam checked his watch. "He's taking too long," Sam announced, jumping up. "I'm going after him."

"Sam…" John broke off his protest as the door swung open. Dean strode into the room casting a questioning look at the anxiety on Sam's face. He took out a brown paper bag. It settled on the table with a serious clunk.

"Lot of security for a bunch of dead guys," Dean offered by way of explanation for taking so long.

John nodded in appreciation while Sam shut the door. At least the inquisition was over.

* * *

Vampires. Dean pretended to fiddle with the spark plug wires as he waited. Dad liked using him as bait and this wasn't exactly his first rodeo. The thought of vampires being real, though, that sent cold shivers through him. Sam seemed to take it in stride with a "Dad, I thought you said there was no such thing as vampires." He kept thinking of those old horror movies with men in long black cloaks and fangs.

"Break down, handsome?" a woman's voice asked. Huh. No sounds of a car engine. As far out as they were right now, there was no way she just 'happened' on him here.

Dean turned to get a good look at her. His first look at a vampire. She did seem kind of pale and just oozed self-confidence. No fangs, though. Bram Stoker would be disappointed.

"Just a little car trouble," he said, wiping his hands on a rag.

She stepped closer, ran a finger across his chest. "Maybe I can help," she practically purred.

"Sorry, honey," he smiled at her, "but I'm not really into necrophilia."

She hesitated. He guessed the bloodsucker didn't expect that. She eyed him carefully then inhaled deeply. "Now I have your scent." She smiled and a whole new row of teeth dropped down, wicked and jagged. Shit! "That's for life, but in your case, it won't be very long."

Dean figured that was probably his cue. He ducked, banking that at least one member of his family could take the hint. When he looked back up, he saw a wood stake sticking out of her shoulder. She laughed, really laughed, and pulled it out. Her eyes tracked to the woods where Dad and Sam were. Dad walked out swinging the crossbow. Sam followed, holding his upright and ready to go.

She shook the narrow stake at them. "Did you really think this would hurt me?" she demanded.

Dad grinned. That was how he looked after taking a few suckers in poker, too. "Check the tip, sweetheart. Dead man's blood. That's like poison to you, isn't it?"

Dean wasn't sure it was possible, but she did look paler. Then she collapsed, right into his arms. Ew.

* * *

"So the plan is to trade her for the Colt?" Dean asked as he lifted the woman up and into the truck.

"Yep." John nodded as he carried some things over to the blazing fire. He handed them off to Sam. "Throw those on the fire. It'll help cover our scents for a while."

"Oh!" Sam jumped back as it caught. "That reeks."

"That's the point," John said with a shake of his head. "It's to hide our scents. When it burns down, we all need to dust our clothes with the ashes. It should hold long enough to get the job done."

"So what's the plan?" Dean asked as he approached the fire. "Dude! Lay off the beans!"

"Ha – ha." Sam rolled his eyes. He looked at John. "He thinks he's funny," Sam said pointing a thumb at Dean.

"Yeah, I've noticed," John admitted.

Dean waved the rank smoke away. "Plan?"

"We put the ashes from the fire on our clothes and hunt some vampires," Sam said. "Right, Dad?"

John shrugged. "Actually, that's pretty much the plan in a nutshell. Vampires mate for life, and this one is the head vamp's mate, so she means more to him than anything, even the Colt."

"So we use her to get the Colt?" Sam asked. "You never said what's so important about it."

John hesitated. Telling them could put them in even more danger. "I use her to get the Colt," he clarified. "While I have the leader distracted, you two are going to take out the whole nest."

Dean grinned, firelight reflecting off his teeth. "Cool." He glanced over. "So what's with the old gun?"

"Dad?" Sam chimed in. Both boys just sounded curious at the moment, but knowing them it could change in an instant. "You are going to tell us?"

"I'd rather not," John admitted. "It's dangerous."

"The gun?" Dean snorted. "I'd hope so. Why else would ya have us going to all this trouble?"

"He means it's too dangerous for us to know," Sam snapped. John's hopes for this to end amicably dashed right through the ground at his feet. "Like we're just children."

"Sam, don't start," John warned. As he heard the old words flow out of his mouth, pure reflex, John knew it was a mistake. The familiar pissed-off expression leapt right out of Sam's face.

"You can't do this, Dad!" Sam shouted right in his face. His son stood barely inches away.

"Enough, Sam." He tried to remain calm, but John knew he was only a few words shy of knocking his son on his ass. He felt his hands clench into fists.

"Stop it!" Strong arms pushed him back, away from Sam. "Knock it off!" Dean pressed between them, holding them apart.

Dean turned to glare at Sam. "We've been looking for Dad for a year. You don't act like that right after we hook up!"

"Dean, he's planning to dump us again!" Sam shouted, waving one arm wildly in John's direction.

"Yeah, I'll get to that in a second!" Dean shoved Sam back a step. "You back off!"

Now Dean turned to face him. "And you knock off the need to know crap." Dean glared for a moment before adding, "Sir."

Shit. They were ganging up on him. He didn't see this one coming. Hell, he never saw them being in the same room without killing each other as a possibility either. When John got something wrong, he really got it wrong. "Samuel Colt was rumored to have made a gun that will kill anything. And I mean anything."

"Supernatural anything?" Sam asked softly.

"Yeah," John sighed out. "You gotta use the bullets he made with the gun, but yeah."

Dean was still breathing hard, standing between them. "Awesome," he finally added. "Then we can use it on the demon."

John shook his head. The boys couldn't think they would be coming with him. It was too dangerous. The demon wanted Sam. There were plans. He still didn't know why the demon wanted his son, but he certainly had a better idea of why Sam was so argumentative. It all to do with that visit on Sam's six month birthday, everything that went wrong with their lives stemmed from that night.

"You two do your job and then head out of town. I'll take care of the rest," John promised. Two vampires shouldn't be too much of a problem, especially if the woman stayed weak and sick. "I'm trying to keep you safe."

"No, Dad." Dean stared right at him. "That's crap. We're stronger together. Sam's right. I didn't see it before, because I didn't get it. We're a family and we're stronger as a family. We are stronger together."

John gritted his teeth. "No. I won't watch you die. I can't. You two do your job and get out of here. That's an order." Then he did the hardest thing he had had to do since watching Sam walk away with the duffel packed for college slung over one shoulder. He turned his back on both of his boys and left.


	13. Ch13:Adulthood

**Chapter Thirteen: Adulthood**

(Dead Man's Blood – Pt 2)

Sam glared after his father, until his truck disappeared into the night.

"Come on, Sam," Dean snapped. He held out some ash in his hands. "We have work to do."

Sam didn't even try to speak, he was so angry. He beat the ash onto his clothes.

"Save it for the vampires," Dean said. Sam turned to glare, but he found Dean's hard eyes boring into him. "All of them."

That made him stop. Sam froze, giving his brother a questioning look.

"You don't seriously think I'm falling for that 'protecting you' crap Dad was spouting, do you?" Dean demanded. "So let's go. The faster we can take care of the nest, the quicker we can be there to watch Dad's back."

For a moment Sam was shocked, then relief flowed over him. "We're following Dad?"

Dean glared. "Of course we are. Right after we take care of the nest." Sam must have given Dean an odd look because he said, "You don't want them dropping down on us at the worst possible time, do you?"

"No." Sam shook his head. "I don't."

Dean went to the trunk, pulled out two machetes. "Let's do this."

Sam felt a small grin build. "Yeah. Okay. Let's do this."

The vampires hiding out in an old barn were no match for the two of them, the Winchester brothers. Sam wiped the gore dangling from his blade off on a tree as they approached the car. Dean swiped at the beaded sweat on his forehead. Beheading supposedly extinct nasties was hard work.

"Any ideas?" Sam asked.

Dean used a rag from the trunk to clean his machete before passing it to Sam. Then he took out the crossbows and more of the blood-soaked arrows. "I figure we'll need to be stealthy, at least at first. Not even Dad knows we're coming, so we definitely have the element of surprise."

Sam grinned, accepting a crossbow. "You got it, big brother."

Dean returned the grin. "So, you're finally admitting I'm right because I'm older."

Sam snorted. "Dream on, bro'."

Dean rolled his eyes as he slammed the trunk closed. "Let's do this."

"But where are we going?" Sam dogged as he got in the passenger seat of the Impala.

"Dad and I picked out the spot for the exchange," Dean replied, starting the motor. "I know exactly where he is."

"What?" Sam stared at his brother in disbelief. "You helped him plan it? Where the hell was I?"

Dean held up one arrow. "Busy work, remember?"

Sam groaned, slumping in the seat. "But why wouldn't he want me in on it?"

That cold smile crossed Dean's face, the one Sam hadn't seen since they ran into that idiot insurance guy. "Because you don't follow orders like I do."

"You knew?" Sam asked. Not accusing, not this time, he just wanted to know. "You set Dad up?"

Dean gunned the big motor. "You'd better believe it."

Relieved, even more than when Dean promised they would be there to watch Dad's back, Sam stretched out as much as the car would allow. He needed to be loose and ready when the time came, which would probably be in less than five minutes.

"I loved it when you said boo, right before you took off that dude's head," Sam said, rolling his head to the side to watch Dean's reaction.

Dean shrugged, but Sam thought his brother seemed pleased. "Don't tell me I'm starting to rub off on you."

Sam grinned. "It's probably driving Dad nuts."

Dean snorted a laugh. "Probably. He claims he likes a smart ass, until he finds it directed at him. Daily."

Sam smiled widely. "I'll bet."

Dean did not glance his way. "So, why do you put up with me?" That quality to his voice, like a kid, set Sam's nerves on edge. Seriously, did Dean really need more confirmation than what had happened with Hanes?

"We're brothers," Sam replied, trying to keep the tightness out of his tone. He just might have to beat that through Dean's thick skull – with a jackhammer. "You put up with all my crap: nightmares; visions…"

"Bitching and moaning," Dean added with a groan. Sam smiled at Dean's discomfort. At least he managed to get Dean off this topic.

"Are we there yet?" Sam asked as he peered out the window.

"Keep your panties on, princess. Almost there." Dean turned off onto a winding dirt road. "We'll have to come in through the woods, or everyone will hear the car."

"Wish I'd worn my old jeans," Sam grumbled. The pair he had on now, which started the day relatively new, already had two rips and blood splatters down one leg.

The car slowed to a stop. "Dad should be leading them to the section of road right past these trees," Dean whispered. Sam now saw the advantage in already having their weapons at the ready, no trunk to slam closed. Dean motioned at him not to close the car door all the way, to leave it partially open. Sam nodded in acknowledgement.

Sam followed Dean through the trees until Dean gave him the hand sign to break off. He moved around, disturbing as little of the undergrowth as possible, to flank the enemy. He hoped. When he was able to see the road, it was clear. Sam wondered if maybe Dad, anticipating their disregard for his orders, had changed the plan. Then he heard the rumble of a truck barreling this way. Sam let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He heard a sharp whistle, Dean letting him know Dad was on his way. Yeah, he figured.

Another engine whine in the dark, another car on the same road, also approached their position. Sam tightened his grip on the crossbow, his pulse racing. Even in the low light, his eyes could pick out every detail. Ah, the wonders of adrenaline.

The other car raced from the opposite direction. Sam watched as it spun in the middle of the road, blocking the truck's path. He hoped this was all part of Dad's plan. The black truck squealed to a halt, stopping an uncomfortably close distance to the car. The head vampire, a woman, and another man stepped out into the road.

"Get out!" the head vampire shouted. The driver's door of the truck opened. Dad hopped easily to the ground. "Who are you?"

"Name's Winchester." Dad's low voice rumbled in Sam's ear. Sam had wondered how Dad acted when he hunted alone. This would be educational.

"Where are your friends?" the vampire demanded.

Light glinted briefly off Dad's teeth, so he had to be smiling. "Cleaning out your nest."

Sam directed his attention back to the vampire to watch how he took that. His shoulders slumped briefly, the most Sam could see from his vantage point behind the vampires. "Where's Kate?"

That's it, Sam thought, get to the important part.

Dad returned to the open door of the truck. Sam watched him take a rope out and tug on it. "Come on, sweetheart." Dad's voice rang out. Sam trained his crossbow on the other man, confident that Dean was covering the leader. The woman vampire they had helped Dad capture earlier stumbled as she got out of the truck.

"Kate? You all right?" the leader asked, full of concern. Sam could relate, in a non-blood-sucking kind of way.

"Dead man's blood," she said weakly, but Sam could see that the poison was already wearing off.

"You son of a bitch," the vampire ground out. Wow. Irony. Sam's trigger finger ached from being in the same tensed position. When would he be able to shoot one of them?

"We want the Colt. Elkin's gun. Even trade." Dad tugged on the rope again as he pulled out a knife and held it to his captive's throat.

The leader vampire laughed. "Is that what this is all about? I mean, you can't shoot us all, right? We'll kill you."

Any second now, Sam thought as he increased pressure on the trigger.

Dad shook his head. "Oh, I don't need it for you. I'm saving it for something else. Now put the Colt down, or she goes first."

"All right." The vampire held up the gun. "Just don't hurt her." He set it on the pavement barely a step away.

"Back up," Dad demanded. He took a few steps back. "Further." He took two more steps back, too far to get the drop on Dad. Dad shoved the woman forward until he could kneel down to reach for the gun.

"That's a nice move," the leader said as Dad reached for the gun. "You almost made it."

When she moved, Sam realized that they underestimated how long the dead man's blood would last in her system. With lightning speed, she snatched the gun and tossed Dad aside, into the grill of the truck. Shit! Sam headed out of his hiding place, still covering the other male vampire.

He saw the gun on the ground and the leader moving toward it. The vampire hit Dad first, hard. Dad slumped down to the ground. That did it. Sam shot at the other male, gratified when his arrow hit its mark. Sam had time to slip another arrow into place before the others noticed. He and Dean both ran in as Dean took a shot. A vampire Sam hadn't noticed before jolted, an arrow sticking out of his throat. Well, if the only way to kill one was to take off the head, then it made sense to shoot it in the throat. Why didn't Sam think of that?

Then he was closer than he thought, almost right on top of the leader. Before Sam could lift his crossbow, he felt the blow. Dazed, he found himself lifted off the ground by his throat. What was it with things always wanting to strangle him?

"Don't!" the leader shouted. "I'll break his neck. Put the blade down."

Sam squirmed to look over. Dean held up his hands, lowered the machete to the ground. "Don't hurt him," Dean pleaded.

Sam gasped, unable to draw a breath. As much as it happened, he should be used to the sensation of being unable to pull in air. Instead Sam pulled at the hand around his throat, the iron fingers constricting his windpipe.

"You people," the leader said, giving Sam a little shake. "Why can't you just leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do." Dark spots danced in his vision.

"I don't think so." Dad's voice. Sam felt his body turned rapidly, heard a gunshot. Then he could breathe again. Sam hit the ground running, right to Dean. Dean snatched the machete off the ground, ready to cover him.

"Luthor!" Kate shouted.

A thin trickle of blood ran out of Luthor's nose, but it was his forehead that drew Sam's attention. There was a hole straight through the vampire's head. Sam could see the trees beyond through it. As he watched, flashes of lightning came from the hole. Sam's eyes widened as a storm, centered around Luthor, erupted out of nothing. Swirling winds picked up his hair as the lightning increased. Next dust could be seen in the wind. It took a moment for Sam to realize that was because Luthor was so old. As the bullet from the Colt killed him he was returning to his actual human age. Dust to dust. The winds picked up all of him, blowing the grains away.

"Wicked," Dean breathed. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam to whisper, "Think we can find another one of those?"

Sam could only shake his head in wonder.

"Kate!" the other woman vampire shouted. "Come on!" The only survivors of this nest jumped into the car and left, a pair of rubber tracks on asphalt.

Sam turned to face Dad. Dad grinned triumphantly as he lowered the Colt.

* * *

Sam folded his blood-spattered jeans, stuck them into the dirty side of his duffel. He cast a sidelong glance at Dean. His brother's face was tight and a little pale. They were leaving, and Dad would be going after the demon alone. It was enough to make Sam feel sick to his stomach. He could only imagine how bad Dean had to feel.

The door opened and Dad walked in. "So. Boys."

Sam turned in tandem with Dean. They faced Dad. Together.

"Yes, sir?" Sam asked, mainly to save Dean from having to do it. He was used to Dad being mad at him.

"You ignored a direct order back there." Dad stated.

"Yes, sir," Sam replied instantly. It was always better to agree with Dad totally after acting against him.

"But we saved your ass," Dean said clearly, head up in defiance. Sam cringed. Shit. This was NOT going to be pretty.

Dad sighed and nodded. "You're right."

"I am?" Dean asked, amazed.

"He is?" Sam asked, equally amazed.

"It scares the hell out of me," Dad said, shoulders slumping in defeat. "You two are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family." A thin smile played across his lips. "I never thought I'd say that with both of you in the room." He took a deep breath. "So. We go after this demon. Together."

Finally! It was all Sam could do not to pump a fist in the air. "Yes, sir," he snapped in perfect sync with Dean. That demon didn't stand a snowball's chance, not now.


	14. Ch14:The Demon's Trail

Thanks again to everyone following this. It's going to take a left turn into serious AU-land pretty soon, mainly because I've had requests to do so. Future chapters are still being written, so if there's anything you really, really want to see...now is the time to say so.

**Chapter Fourteen: The Demon's Trail  
**

**(Salvation)**

Dean followed Dad's black truck toward Salvation, Iowa. Dad had said something about electrical storms.

"What's with the electrical storms?" Dean asked. "Why is that a big deal?"

"When demons show up, they cause all kinds of disturbances. One of them is electrical storms," Sam explained patiently. It amazed Dean how Sam put up with all of his stupid questions. He had seen Sam lose it with a few librarians and bookstore clerks asking more innocuous questions.

"So that's why Dad figures one is coming to Salvation?" he asked.

"Pretty much. Dad puts a lot more effort into it than just weather reports, but essentially that's it." Sam shuffled through some of Dad's papers. Dean couldn't understand half that stuff, so he preferred to drive while Sam read up.

The truck swerved off the road. Dean followed.

"Sam? Something's up." Dean braked quickly off the road, stopping just behind Dad.

Dad stepped out of the truck with an expression on his face that Dean couldn't recall seeing before.

"Shit," Sam breathed. "This is bad. Come on."

Dean stepped quickly out of the car, his worry level amped all the way up. He decided to follow Sam's lead now, having no idea what to do with Dad in this kind of mood. This was new territory for him.

"Dad?" Sam called out as Dad dropped out of the truck. "What is it?"

"Jim Murphy." Dad met Sam's eyes, they shared a moment heavy with emotion. "He's dead."

Sam's face registered shock. "Pastor Jim?"

Dad nodded, eyes still on Sam. Dean felt like an outsider, for the first time in a long time. They grieved for someone from their past, someone he had never met.

"I'm ending this." Dad's voice was deceptively soft. "This ends. Now." He glanced at Dean, nodded subtly toward Sam. Then Dad climbed back inside his truck and gunned the engine. Dean could take a hint. He jumped behind the wheel as Sam slid into the passenger seat.

Take care of Sam. That was what Dad just told him to do, and here he was, still taking orders. This one he would have done even without the order. Dean cleared his throat, uncomfortable. Hell, this couldn't be worse than all the crap they'd already been through because of Jess.

"Were you close?" he asked, breaking the silence. Sam did not answer. "Pastor Jim?"

He glanced over at Sam. His brother flinched a little at the mention of Pastor Jim.

"I can't believe he's gone," Sam muttered. "He was always there, you know?"

Now Sam sounded more normal. Oh yeah, Dean was in for a monstrous monologue now.

"Even when I was at school, I could always call Jim. Whenever Dad went on a hunt he thought would take a while, more than a week, he would leave me at Pastor Jim's. He and Bobby were the only people I ever felt like I could count on growing up."

"Bobby?" Dean interrupted. He couldn't help it. Sam actually trusted Bobby? Was it the same Bobby? "You're not talking about Bobby Singer?" he demanded.

"Yeah, Bobby Singer. Why? Did you meet him?" Sam asked, turning in his seat.

"Not exactly," Dean grumbled. "No offense, Sam, but I don't care much for the guy."

"Why? What happened?" Sam asked in that overbearing, demanding voice he inherited from Dad.

"You mean before or after he chased us off with a shotgun?" Dean said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. "I assume Pastor Jim wouldn't have done that?"

"Uh…no." Sam threw him a few confused glances. "Jim is a…was a great guy. He'd never do that, no matter what. I can't imagine…"

Dean shook his head. "Forget it," he insisted. He was supposed to be looking after Sam, not getting him more worked up than he already was. "Don't worry about that. Tell me about Jim."

Sam talked for a good thirty minutes before he trailed off into silence. Maybe a half a minute into the silence Dean started to get worried. Sam usually wrapped up his monologues, he didn't leave them hanging like this. Before he could prompt Sam again, his brother spoke.

"Why did you do that? Ask me to tell you about Pastor Jim?" he asked softly.

Dean shrugged, not understanding why Sam would ask something so obvious. "You needed to talk."

Sam chuckled. "You do that a lot. I've noticed."

"What?" Dean glanced over, still confused. "What do I do?"

Sam actually smiled at him, even if it was kind of a sad smile. "Be my big brother."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Pain in my ass," he grumbled.

Sam laughed at that, reached out to shove him in the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Just keep denying what a great brother you are."

Dean shook his head, working hard to pretend that he wasn't reveling in the praise. "Well, when compared with such a girly guy for a little brother…"

"Oh, no!" Sam snapped. "You did not go there! Dude, I am so kicking your ass at the motel."

Dean snorted, relieved that the touchy-feely moment had passed. "How? Bringing friends?"

"Oh, I wouldn't need any friends," Sam stated in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Still living in that delusion?" Dean asked. He honestly wasn't sure which one of them would win in an all-out fight, and he would go to any lengths not to find out.

"Oh, I'm delusional?" Sam demanded. Dean could hear that teasing tone in his voice. "How old were you when you started traveling around with some crazy guy who hunted demons?"

"Hey, hey," Dean warned, holding up a hand.

"And calling him Dad?"

Dean pretended to be angry so he could glare at Sam. "Complaints?"

Sam laughed again, but this time it sounded distinctly lighter than before. "Nope. Not one."

"Yeah, I didn't think so," Dean snapped. It was the closest he could get to 'thanks' and 'you're welcome', but obviously Sam knew that. He relaxed into his seat, grateful that the awkward moment had passed. "And he never said anything about demons. It was a Wendigo."

"Oh, yeah," Sam replied with a chuckle, "that's much better." He let out a huge sigh. "Jim would've really liked you."

Dean shrugged. "What's not to like?"

He heard Sam chuckle again. The silence was not heavy, it was simply the absence of words. The radio provided background music for their thoughts as he followed Dad into Salvation. Strange name for a town.

"So this is it," Sam said, breaking the silence.

"Guess so," Dean replied. Dad pulled off at the first motel, Dean followed.

"Too bad," Sam said as they parked.

Dean turned to frown at his brother. "Why's that?"

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Guess I was just enjoying the drive."

Dean frowned at him. "You're seriously weird, you know that?"

Sam shrugged again. "Comes with the territory. So, are we sharing with Dad or getting our own room?"

Dean smiled at that. "Probably sharing, unless you two start going at it again. Then I might leave you two at it and go get my own room."

Sam's eyes widened comically. "You wouldn't. Would you?"

Dean chuckled at the reaction. "Nah. Might kick your ass if you start it, though."

Sam breathed out sharply. "Best behavior. I swear."

"I'm holding you to that," Dean warned with a shake of his finger.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

Dad was already in the office to rent a room for them by the time he and Sam pulled their duffels out of the car. Dean figured Dad probably already had a full plan of action for them, all they had to do was walk into the motel room to find out.

--

* * *

Sam adjusted his duffel strap nervously as he followed Dean to the room. Dad waved them inside, so clearly they were all supposed to be sharing again. Dad hadn't really started the usual crap last time, except for the need-to-know stuff, but he guessed that was to be expected. Sam felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Did Dad act the same way with Dean that he did the whole time Sam was growing up?

There were three beds in the room, which was kind of surprising. Not many hotels had rooms with three beds, much less a motel. Dad had already claimed the bed by the door and Dean stretched out on the one in the center. Sam dropped his duffel by the bed furthest from the door. That was a pattern in his family, he noticed: Sammy sleeps by the wall.

Sam nearly bit through his tongue as Dad outlined the plan. He and Dean were find records of all births from six months ago and make a list of all the children who would turn exactly six months old within the next few days. Dad had 'something else' to research. Sam looked pleadingly at Dean, but Dean just nodded and replied 'yes, sir.' Great. No idea what Dad was up to and they were stuck with the grunt work, as usual. Obviously it didn't bother Dean half as much as it bothered Sam.

He and Dean split up to check out the birth records. Dean planned to hit the hospital and Sam wanted to check the town's public records. However, if anyone moved here with a child about to turn six months old, they would never find out this way. As Sam scanned through the public records, making his list, he wondered what Dad might be up to. He was probably trying to find more evidence of the demon coming.

Deciding that he couldn't get any more information here, Sam stuffed his papers in his bag. He shouldered the bag as he headed outside. When the first warm rays of sunlight struck his face, a headache started. Sam rubbed his forehead, trying to ignore it.

The world around him blinked away for a moment. Sam froze, knowing what was happening to him now. Shit. Dean wasn't here. His hand found a pole of some kind, maybe for a streetlight. Sam hung on as the lights turned sharply off. He saw a dark nursery, with a mobile above the bed. He heard the sound of a train whistle. A dark figure stood over the crib. There was a scream. The scene shifted, the room spun. The scream came from a woman. She slid slowly up the wall making terrified noises as her eyes fixed on the baby in the crib.

The world around him snapped back, blinding him with the brilliant sunlight. Sam blinked hard, forcing his eyes to adjust.

"Hey, buddy. You all right?" The voice came from the vicinity of his left elbow. Sam looked down at a short elderly man.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." He released his death grip on the streetlight. "Just got a little dizzy for a second. I'm fine now."

"Okay." The man looked skeptical. "You take it easy now."

"Yeah. Thanks." Sam dug through his backpack for the map of town he just acquired. He searched it for neighborhoods near train tracks. One in particular looked promising.

--

* * *

Dean checked his watch. It was nearly time to meet up at the motel. He had a list of baby names and addresses, as well as the number of the cute gal who worked at the hospital. All in all, it was a successful day. He drove by the library, but Sam wasn't out front. Dean pulled out his cell, called Sam's number. It rang twice before Sam answered.

"Hey, Dean. I'm not at the library."

"Well, you're sure not out front. Where are you? Need a ride or did you call Dad?" Dean asked, putting his car in park.

"I found where the demon is coming tonight. Pick me up and I'll explain everything." Sam rattled off directions that Dean struggled to memorize as he pulled away from the curb. His memory was just not as good as Sam's or Dad's.

He found Sam in a nice little neighborhood, the kind of place where kids still played in the streets. Sam looked a little pale as he pulled up.

"Dude? You okay? What happened?" Dean demanded, slamming the car into park.

Sam dropped heavily into the front seat, ran both hands over his face. "I had a vision, about the woman in that house." He pointed out a nice suburban house down the street. "The demon is going to do to her what it did to Mom and Jess. We have to stop it, Dean. We have to."

"You sure it's tonight?" Dean asked. At least now he knew why Sam looked so pale. Those damned visions really took it out of him.

Sam nodded. "Their daughter is exactly six months old today."

"Good enough for me," Dean replied. And it was, too. Now all they had to do was convince Dad. Yeah, that was going to go over well. 'Hey Dad, Sam had this vision so we know exactly where the demon is going to hit next.' Maybe he should go get that other room.

"Thinking about getting another room, aren't you?" Sam asked, breaking his train of thought.

"Who? Me?" Dean asked, startled. When did Sam learn to read him so damn well, anyway?

"Thought so," Sam replied. "Might not be a bad idea, but I'm coming with you. And that means Dad is going to follow us, so it won't do you any good anyway."

Dean rolled his eyes. "God, you're a pain."

Sam flashed him a genuine grin, the first real smile Dean had seen for a while. "That's what little brothers are for."

"Wish somebody had warned me," he mumbled. Dean was rewarded with a light smack on the shoulder.

He wanted to delay this, maybe grab something to eat first, but the anticipation of telling Dad would make anything they stopped to eat taste bland. So Dean headed for the motel, wondering if Dad was even there. The black truck in the parking lot answered that question. He shared a long look with Sam before they exited the car.

Sam followed him to the room. Dean wasn't sure how he wanted to tell Dad, but somehow the fact Sam was following his lead already was reassuring.


	15. Ch15:It's A Big Deal

**Chapter Fifteen: It's a Big Deal**

**(Salvation – Pt2)**

Sam followed big brother to their motel room. Right now, he felt eternally grateful for having a big brother and horrifically pissed that it hadn't happened until recently. What had taken Dad so damn long? Maybe it had just taken Dad that long to find Dean. Speaking of Dad, he was sitting at the table in the room with all kinds of handwritten papers spread out in front of him. Sam supposed Dad had been confirming that the demon would be showing up.

"There you are," Dad said, glancing up briefly. "Find anything? I'm pretty sure it's going to strike soon, either tonight or tomorrow night."

Sam swallowed hard, dropping his backpack to the floor. "I think it's going to be tonight."

Dad looked up then, met Sam's eyes. "Why?"

"Well…" Sam wasn't sure how to say it. He sat down on one of the beds and continued. "I found this woman with a baby girl who turns six months old tonight."

Dad nodded, still staring at him. "And? It's going to take a little more than that, Sammy."

Sam nodded. He looked to Dean for support. Dean gave him a slight nod to continue.

"Well, see, I have these visions, and things happen exactly the way I see them. I saw the demon come for them." Sam took a deep breath, met Dad's gaze again.

Dad's eyes narrowed. "You had a what?"

"Vision," Dean answered. "It started with dreams, but now he's having them when he's awake." Dean shrugged, leaning against the chest of drawers. "We weren't sure what they meant."

"Visions?" Dad stood up. Sam heard the shake in Dad's voice, the sound that never meant anything good. "Sam is having visions and you didn't bother to tell me?" His voice rose close to a shout.

Sam watched, wide-eyed, as Dean took the brunt of Dad's anger. He didn't mean for this to happen, but right now his voice didn't want to work.

"Tell you?" Dean asked, and he sounded way too calm. "When was I supposed to tell you?"

Dad slammed a hand down on the table, scattering a few pages to the floor. "The minute you knew Sam was having visions, Dean! You should have picked up the phone and called me!"

Now, _that_ expression on Dean's face Sam knew all too well.

"Call you?" Yeah, Dean sounded way, way, way too calm. "Call you?" Louder now. Maybe Sam needed to think about getting that extra room. "Dad, I called you from Lawrence. Sam, _your son_, called you when I was dying. I got a better chance of winning the lottery than of getting you on the god-damned phone!"

Red faced, fists balled, Dean stood within inches of Dad. Sam's eyes darted between them, his abject fear that the only two people who meant anything to him were close to blows the only thing keeping him rooted to the bed. He knew he should do something, stop them. Dean would. But Sam couldn't move, every muscle in his body frozen stiff. He couldn't even breathe.

Then Dad did something that Sam could not only never forget, but had never seen before. Dad took a step back. "Yeah, you're right." He ran a hand through his tousled dark hair. "Okay. Fine." Dad backed down. He actually backed down.

Dad stood there in the middle of the room breathing heavy for a minute. He pointed one finger at Dean when he was ready to speak again. "Don't start pulling that 'your son' crap with me. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Dean replied softly.

"Good." Dad reached out and grabbed Dean's arm briefly before sinking down to sit next to Sam. "Okay son, tell me about these visions."

Sam glanced back at Dean, though. Dean took a seat across from them, nodded to Sam to get started already. Yeah, they only had a few hours until sundown and a lot of ground to cover.

* * *

Dad's face was ashen when he disconnected the call on his cell. "They got Caleb," he whispered. "I heard the bastards kill him." Dad took a shaky breath. "They want the gun or they'll keep killing people we know."

He looked at Sam when he said that. Dean stayed back, a step behind Sam. This was from their life before he met them, he wasn't involved in this. He noticed the way Sam's shoulders and neck tensed, so this Caleb guy meant something to Sam, too.

"What do we do?" Sam asked, a tremor in his voice.

Dean rested a hand high on Sam's back, just below his neck, to remind him that not everyone was dead. Not yet, anyway. He felt Sam's muscles relax some under his touch.

"We need that gun to kill the demon, but maybe I can distract it." Dad looked at him. "Dean, do you think you can find a replica? A gun that looks like the Colt, same vintage? I don't think they'll be able to tell the difference."

Dean nodded. He felt Sam tense up again, so he slipped his hand up a little to the base of Sam's neck and gave a gentle squeeze. Sam didn't knock him away or send him sprawling on the floor, so Dean supposed his brother was taking his reassurances well.

"What are you planning to do?" Dean asked, a heavy pit in his stomach.

"I'm going to take them the replica, tonight. You two take the Colt to the house and kill the sonuvabitch."

"No," Sam whispered.

"You'll be a sitting duck," Dean complained.

Dad smiled at them. "I still have a few tricks up my sleeve," he said. "You two just worry about killing that demon. You do that, and I'll be just fine."

Dean dropped his hand away. How could he comfort Sam when he felt so damned lousy himself? "Yeah, sure. No problem."

Sam's elbow knocked swiftly but gently into his ribs. "Dad, you know this is a trap."

"I know, son," Dad said softly. "But I really don't have a choice. If I can keep the others distracted long enough, you and Dean can finish this tonight."

"Why Dean?" Sam demanded.

Dean glanced over at his brother in surprise. "What? You want me to go with Dad?"

Sam ignored him, glaring at Dad. Dad shook his head. "Maybe I'll tell you after this is over. Right now, we need a gun."

"On it," Dean replied, heading away. Sam's question really made him wonder, though. What did that mean: 'Why Dean?' Why was he involved? Why did Dad ask him to be part of the family? Why didn't Dad send him in as the decoy, like usual? Question after question plagued him while he shopped for a decent replica. The third pawn shop he hit had a Colt the right vintage. Dean talked the shop owner down a couple of hundred before laying down cold, hard cash for it. This wasn't the time to be cheap, they were in a hurry.

As expected, Sam was fuming when he got back. There was tension in the air, but he figured they both looked in too good a condition for any real fighting to have happened in his absence. Dad took the replacement and left, not even bothering to hug either of them.

They sat in the car, parked just outside the house where the demon would strike, in an uncomfortable silence. Finally Dean couldn't stand it any longer.

"Why'd you ask 'why Dean'? I kinda thought we'd been over this," he said.

Sam gave him the strangest look. "Not why you're here. Why Dad changed your name. I mean, he could've made you a Winchester with your real first name."

Dean scowled. "Dean is the first real name I've ever had." How could Sam still be questioning his place in the family?

Sam held both hands up in surrender. "I'm not saying anything like that, I swear. I just don't get why he picked the name Dean, that's all."

Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam. Sam didn't get it? How could he not get it? This wasn't about being added to a family. "Seriously? Come on, man. I'm a replacement."

Now it was Sam's turn to show surprise. "For me? While I was at school?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, that probably had a lot to do with it, but no. For Dean."

Sam had this totally blank expression. "I don't get it. You're Dean."

"Shit, Sam. You're not this dense." He rolled his eyes heavenward, even though he knew he wouldn't be getting any help from that direction. "For their other kid."

The blank expression changed, became suspicious. "I was an only child," Sam replied in a guarded voice. "My mother died when I was six months old. There wasn't time for another kid."

Dean just stared at him. "Dude, you were the second baby. The real Dean was still-born."

Sam's eyes widened. He might have said something after that, but the house lights began to flicker. "Shit," Dean breathed, "it's starting. Sam? How much experience do you actually have with demons?"

Sam glanced back, his door halfway open. "Probably less than you."

Dean nodded. "Great. Just so we're on the same page."

* * *

Sam raced to the house, Dean's words still reverberating in his mind. 'Dude, you were the second baby.' Second. Was that why it was actually easy to follow Dean's lead? Was that why he could accept having a big brother that Dad picked up on the road? Or maybe it was because he was just as screwed up as Dad.

Dean picked the lock on the front door, swung it open to let Sam in first. The Colt felt heavy in his hand. Dean had just handed it over without a word, no discussion. Clearly it was more Sam's fight than Dean's.

Dad was even more screwed up than Sam imagined if he deliberately went out of his way to replace a child that had been still-born. A child Dad had never mentioned, not once. It made Sam wonder as he crept up the residential staircase. It had to still be an open wound if Dad still refused to discuss it, but he told Dean - uh, Jerry.

A woman opened the door to the nursery. Sam slipped quietly up behind her. He didn't want to frighten her, she might scream and alert the demon he was there. She let out a short shriek when she spotted the dark figure standing over the crib. When she began to slide up the wall, Sam sprang into action.

He leapt into the room, Colt at the ready. Bright yellow eyes blinked out at him from the shadow. Sam lifted the Colt, aimed and fired all in one smooth motion. At this distance he couldn't possibly miss. The demon swirled away out of existence. Was that it? Was it dead? He expected something more dramatic. Then he smelled fire.

Flames licked the walls as the mother dropped to the floor. Sam scooped the baby out of her crib. He thrust the Colt into his back waistband to give himself a free hand to haul the young mother out of there.

The sound of Dean arguing with a man downstairs reached them as he hustled them to the stairs. The woman raced down to calm her husband. Good thing, Dean had issues with people being ungrateful as it was.

Outside Sam looked up at the nursery window to see a dark figure standing in the flames. The demon! Furious, Sam raced for the front door only to run smack into Dean.

"Move!" he ordered, reaching out to shove Dean out of his way.

Dean was stronger than Sam usually gave him credit for. Dean grabbed his arm, forced him back a couple of steps. "Why, Sam? You go in that house and you'll die!"

Sam snarled at the window. The demon still stood there, taunting him. "It's worth it."

"No!" Sam found himself flat on his ass staring up at a furious Dean. "No, Sam, it's not! I didn't join this family to watch you and Dad kill yourselves! I won't let you!" Dean dropped to his knees in front of Sam, grabbed him by the shoulder. "I can't."

Dean's eyes pleaded with Sam to understand. Sam tore his gaze away. The shadowy figure disappeared from the window. Sam didn't really get it, why Dean was so upset. Looking at the shattered expression on Dean's face, Sam resolved to understand, whatever it took. He would understand. He didn't know how long it would take, but first things first.

"Dad," Sam breathed, horror settling in now that the immediate danger had passed. They had failed in their mission, the demon was still alive. What had happened to Dad? What was happening to Dad now? The demon had to know Sam had the Colt and it had forced him to waste a bullet.

"Yeah." Dean stood, hauling Sam up with him. "Come on."

Sam started to follow when the baby's mother rushed over to thank him. Dean was definitely right about one thing, it was nice when people noticed what you did for them.

* * *

They both paced the motel room for a couple of hours. Dad hadn't answered any of the numerous calls to his cell. Sam's cell rang, stopping them in their tracks. He looked down at his cell, it registered an incoming call from 'Dad.'

"Thank God," he mumbled, flipping his cell open. "Dad?"

"No, but he's here," a woman's voice said.

Sam's stomach flipped. "Meg?"

Dean was instantly at his elbow, head leaning close to listen. Sam twisted the phone out so Dean could hear too.

"Aw, Sammy. You remembered."


	16. Ch16:Junkyard Dogs

Yes, it's been a while. Thought I forgot about this AU, huh? I'm still not sure where it's going to end but, by request, we're going to take a serious detour from canon real soon. Really hope you continue to enjoy the ride!

Big thanks to **_Kanarah J_** and **_charis-kalos_** for their editing and constant and consistent support.

**Chapter Sixteen: Junkyard Dogs**

(Devil's Trap)

Dean clenched his jaw in an attempt to reign in his complaints. Sam drove his car to that damn salvage yard. Bobby Singer was one of the last people on Earth Dean would ever go to for help; he didn't care if the man was the utmost authority on demons.

"Look," Sam kept trying to convince him that this stupid idea was a good one, "I understand you have some issues with Bobby, but he's a good man. He'll help us."

Dean drummed his fingers on the armrest. Sam really expected him to buy that load?

"Dean? Can you just trust me on this one?"

Dean's head snapped to the side. "Sam. You know I trust you."

"Good." Sam's head bobbed. "Then relax a little, okay? Bobby's not going to come after us with a shotgun."

Dean snorted, but he tried to relax. He forced his fingers not to tap nervously. "Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it."

Sam shot him a smile that wasn't entirely reassuring, but it took the knots out of his stomach. He turned up the radio to drown out any more of Sam's platitudes. He trusted Sam plenty, with his life. But Bobby? Bobby Singer was the one he didn't trust. That man shouted some pretty nasty things as he and Dad ran off last time, firing that shotgun over their heads.

Sam pulled into the salvage yard, where nice old cars went to die a slow death by rust. Bobby met them outside the house, shotgun in hand. Dean reached for the glove compartment, where his extra piece was, but Sam stopped him.

"Hey, Bobby!" Sam called out the window as he parked.

Bobby had this confused look on his face. Dean couldn't help his glare. If Bobby took a shot at Sam, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. One thing was for sure, it'd be the last damn time Bobby fired that shotgun.

Sam quickly explained the situation and then Bobby invited them inside. Dean had the nasty impression Bobby was giving him the evil eye, which made him wonder if you really could curse somebody just by looking at him. Well, if everything Sam said about Bobby was true, he'd know how to do it.

"Bobby? You've met Dean, right?" Sam asked as he crashed on Bobby's ancient sofa, a dust cloud erupting around him.

Bobby stared hard at Dean before answering. "We've met."

"Good. Then I don't have waste time explaining. We need to figure out a way to get Dad away from those demons." Sam had that almost-panicked tone to his voice.

"Uh, Sam?" Bobby tilted his head toward the kitchen. "Mind helping me grab a few cold ones before we get started?"

Sam started to get up. Dean moved to stand between them. "Maybe he does mind," he snapped, facing Bobby.

Bobby's eyes narrowed and he looked real similar to the way he had when he pulled the shotgun. "And maybe my aim will be better this time," Bobby growled.

Dean stepped closer, until he was in Bobby's personal space. "Maybe you won't have the chance."

Long arms pressed between them. "Back off!" Sam shouted. "Bobby! Dean! Back off!" Sam held them apart at arm's length, and with the length of Sam's arms Dean wouldn't have a prayer of landing a punch at this distance.

Sam faced him first. "Damn it, Dean! Remember what we talked about in the car? You're gonna trust me on this one. Cool it!" Sam gave Dean a shove that had him staggering back a few steps.

Little brother spun to face Bobby. "Bobby, you're like family to me, but don't you ever threaten my brother like that again."

Now Bobby's jaw dropped and his brows drew tight together. After a moment Bobby cleared his throat. "Uh, Sam? You don't have a brother."

"I didn't have a brother. Now I do." Sam stared defiantly at Bobby, as if daring the older man to contradict him. "Weren't you going to offer us a beer?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Bobby scratched his head, temporarily displacing his ballcap. He disappeared behind the kitchen door.

Sam blew out a breath. "You," he pointed at the sofa, "sit."

Dean shrugged and headed for the sofa. He pulled his pistol out of his waistband first, though, and set it on the armrest as he sat. Better paranoid than dead, Dad always said. Sam rolled his eyes but he didn't say anything, just sat down next to Dean.

Bobby returned with three open beers. They looked awfully good, it was a pretty dry drive here. Dean took his but he wasn't sure if he should drink it. He heard another sigh from Sam, then Sam switched bottles with him. Sam made a production out of taking a long drink from the bottle that had been handed to Dean. Bobby just watched, never saying anything. Well, if they were both poisoned, then he'd die too. If just his had been poisoned, Bobby wouldn't live to regret the day he first met the Winchesters.

The cold beer tingled down his throat, washing away the dust of the road. Before he knew it, Dean had drained his bottle. He set the empty down on Bobby's coffee table. Sam jerked his head toward Bobby a couple of times. Was he kidding? Sam glared. Apparently not kidding.

"Thanks," he said grudgingly, under Sam's glare, "for the beer."

"Welcome," Bobby ground out, "for the beer."

"Bobby? What do we do about Dad?" Sam asked.

Bobby continued to stare at Dean as he answered. "You're sure he's not dead?"

Dean's hand clenched reflexively. "He's not dead," Dean growled, matching Bobby's stare.

"We have what they want," Sam explained. "Dad is their bargaining chip. They won't kill him before they get it."

Bobby actually took his eyes off Dean at that. "What do they want that bad?"

"Never mind," Dean snapped, gratified when Bobby's suspicious eyes returned to him. He stood up. "C'mon, Sam. We don't need him."

Sam stood to face him. "Yes, Dean, we do." He glanced between Dean and Bobby. "But you two junkyard dogs are going to have to stand down first." He sighed. "How about we clear the air a little?"

Sam faced Bobby. "We have a gun that will kill anything supernatural, even a demon. Why did you chase Dad and Dean off with a shotgun?"

It seemed to take Bobby a minute to catch up with Sam. He jerked his head toward the kitchen. Sam remained by Dean. Bobby jerked his head again.

"I can't protect you if you leave me here," Dean hissed.

Sam gave him a pained look. "I'll be fine, Dean. I swear. Back in a minute."

Dean picked up his gun, crossed his arms over his chest.

* * *

The glare Dean sent Bobby gave Sam chills. Sam motioned to Dean to stay there, near the sofa, before he followed Bobby into the kitchen. The instant the door swung closed, Bobby was on him.

"What the hell, Sam?" Bobby demanded. "You actually brought that man in my house?"

"Why not, Bobby?" Sam tried to stay calm, to let Bobby vent. "What happened? Why did you chase them off with a shotgun?"

Bobby took off his ballcap, wrung it in his hands. "Your daddy showed up here, needing some supplies. He introduced me to Dean, his new partner. Seemed like a nice enough kid." The hat twisted back and forth in Bobby's meaty hands. "But then I heard it. John ordered Dean to grab something from the car. Up til then he always said 'yes, sir.' That time, that time he said, 'okay, Dad.'" Bobby looked at the walls, the floor, anywhere but at Sam. "I guess I just…snapped."

Sam waited, but Bobby seemed to have run out of words. "Why? Why did you snap?"

Sam was not accustomed to seeing Bobby in such an emotional state. "He replaced you, Sam. I, uh, I couldn't take that."

Sam smiled at Bobby, finally understanding. He was getting there, closer to where Dean and Bobby were. "Dad didn't replace me, Bobby," Sam said gently. Bobby tried to turn away but Sam held him firm by both arms. "He gave me back the big brother I've been missing my whole life."

Bobby had the most lost and confused expression Sam had ever seen. "Do what?"

"I'm not trying to defend Dad, but he found that guy out there. He made him part of our family." Sam couldn't help the small laugh that escaped. "Dean's the closest to normal we've ever had, Bobby, which is really ironic because he's seriously screwed up. But he's the best friend I've ever had."

Sam tried to catch Bobby's eye. "Think you can cut him a little slack? Give him a chance?"

Bobby shrugged, still not looking at Sam. "I guess I can try." Then Bobby did look him in the eye. "But I still don't trust him."

"Do you trust me?" Sam demanded. Bobby nodded slowly. "Then you need to trust my judgment, and I trust Dean."

As Sam headed for the door he heard a soft squeak of floorboards, then nothing. He smiled to himself at Dean's protectiveness. Careful to blank his face before pushing open the door to the den, Sam stepped through. He heard Bobby mumble something about 'damned Winchesters' as the older hunter followed.

Dean stood a couple of steps away from the couch, gun still at the ready.

"Put that away," Sam ordered. He noticed Dean move instantly to obey, only hesitating when he was actually shoving the pistol in this waistband. "Bobby doesn't carry a gun, just the shotgun. He's not armed," Sam insisted. Dean nodded, releasing the gun at his back.

"So, are we ready to get Dad back, or are we going to waste more time with you two being macho jerks?" Sam demanded.

Dean rolled his eyes and motioned to Bobby, as if to say it was up to him. Bobby shook his head, like Dean was the thickest guy he ever met.

"I'll get the holy water ready. Sam, maybe you and your friend can clear the room under the trap." Bobby headed back to the kitchen.

"Your friend," Dean mimicked. He turned to face Sam. "What trap?"

Sam pointed straight up, at the Key of Solomon painted on the ceiling. "It traps demons. They can't get out from under it."

Dean studied it for a moment, that child-like expression of wonder on his face again. "Really? A demon trap, huh? That's cool. I like that."

"If you like that," Bobby said, blowing back through the room, "you're gonna love this." He tossed a book at Sam.

Sam caught it, flipped through a few pages. "Bobby, I know these exorcisms. I thought you had something new."

"It's not for you," Bobby snapped. He spun around to disappear back inside the kitchen.

Sam rolled his eyes, holding the book out for Dean. "I think this is his way of making nice. I don't suppose Dad taught you any Latin?"

Dean shrugged. "Just how to read and pronounce it. Can't understand a damn word."

"Yeah?" Sam grinned at that. "Good. That's all you really need to know. How good is your pronunciation?"

Dean shrugged again. "Dad said it was good, but I don't know if he was just being nice."

Sam couldn't help the short bark of a laugh that escaped. "Dad is never just being nice. You must be pretty good. Come on, help me move this table."

Between the two of them, it took a few hours to clear the center of the room from all of Bobby's piles of books. Sam noticed that the book Bobby left for Dean kept moving around the room, like Dean would forget it if he didn't keep finding a new spot for it. Then again, considering how terrible Dean was with names and sometimes directions, maybe his memory really was that bad.

"You can put that in the car," Sam suggested when the center of the room was clear.

Dean looked torn. Finally he shook his head. "Nah. You'll remind me if I forget, right?"

"Sure." Sam found it difficult to swallow as he remembered the fact Dean was once beaten badly enough to put him in a coma. The lack of a good memory did explain why Dean always needed to search through everything they owned every time he couldn't find something.

Sam started at the sound of one of Bobby's dogs barking outside. Dean moved to stand beside him. Sam could literally feel the energy pulsing from his brother. Then the dog suddenly went silent. Sam shared a look with Dean. They moved out from under the sigil, out of sight of the front door. Bobby set down a bucket of water near the kitchen door.

"Plenty more where that came from," he said, tilting his head toward the kitchen.

A knock sounded on the front door. Showtime.


	17. Ch17:Damn Demons

You wanted to see it hit the fan? Here it is! Okay, there's another cliff-hanger type ending here, but the next chapter will be able to post pretty soon and I'm still nicer than Kripke.

Everybody wave to _**scifimom**_. Yes, she's really my mom and the first ever fan of my writing. Actually, the fact that I write at all is largely thanks to Mom. Big thanks as always to my editors _**Kanarah J**_ and _**charis-kalos, **_and to _**laceym **_for her never-ending support and for being my sounding board.

**Chapter Seventeen: Damn Demons**

(Devil's Trap – Pt 2 / AU)

Dean really, really, really hated demons. In particular, he hated Meg. Even trapped and tied to a chair, she kept taunting Sam. With every insult she hurled, every innuendo she used, Dean could see the effects on Sam. Sam's whole body tightened, his face went rigid, and his eyes had this hurt look which cut Dean to the core.

He threw some more holy water on the bitch. "She's not giving him up. Do it, Sam."

"Wait!" Bobby shouted. Dean turned slowly to look at the jerk. "Don't you two get it?" he demanded. "She's a girl!"

Dean exchanged a confused look with Sam. "I thought you said she was a demon, Bobby," Sam said evenly.

"She is." Bobby rolled his eyes and his head. "God, how thick can you be? That's a demon inside some poor girl's body. If she really did take a nasty fall, like you said, then as soon as that demon is out of her she's dead." He shook his head. "Don't do it, that demon is the only thing keeping her alive."

Dean stared hard at her. It wasn't like they threw her out of that window. If they got rid of the demon, would her death be their fault or the demon's? Dean ground his teeth. Decisions. He really hated decisions, but he had been making the hard ones most of his life.

"Where is John Winchester?" he asked, for the last time.

Meg grinned. "Probably already dead by now. That's why I'm here, to collect the Colt."

"Sam," Dean growled.

"Sam," Bobby pleaded.

Out of the corner of his eye Dean could see Sam looking between them, torn.

Dean took a step back, closer to his little brother. "Do it," he repeated firmly.

Sam recited the Latin, his facial expression an odd mixture of dread and determined. Dean jumped when black smoke poured out of the woman's mouth. Demon smoke? This gig just got weirder all the time. He rushed to release her bonds, lower the poor girl to the floor.

She choked as she whispered, "Thank you."

Dean brushed the hair from her eyes. "Wasn't your fault," he told her softly.

She nodded, choking as thin spittles of blood appeared on her chin. "Sunrise," she managed to say. "They're holding him. Sunrise." Her eyes closed and her chest stopped moving.

"Crap," Dean muttered, stroking her hair one last time.

"Bobby?" Sam's voice sounded behind him. "Any idea what she meant by holding Dad at sunrise?"

"Nah." Sirens sounded in the distance. "But you boys best get out of here."

Dean hesitated as Sam moved to the door. "What will you…?"

Bobby shook him off gruffly. "This ain't the first time I've lied to the cops. Now go on and get out of here."

Sam was already out the door. Dean moved to leave when Bobby caught him by the arm. "Look after Sam." Bobby's eyes darted to the empty doorway. "He's a good kid, you know."

Dean nodded at him. "Yeah, I know."

Bobby still didn't release him. "If anything happens to his daddy…" The old man swallowed hard. "Well, even if it doesn't, you can just come on back here."

"Both of us?" Dean asked, voice guarded.

Bobby nodded.

"I hope we don't have to," Dean admitted as he headed for the door. The Impala's horn sounded from outside, urging Dean to hurry. Those sirens were close.

* * *

"Sunrise Apartments," Dean breathed, looking over the small, three story complex. "It would make sense, but you know it's got to be a trap."

Sam nodded, facial expressions and motions tight and controlled. "But if it's a trap, then Dad is definitely in there."

Dean sighed as he counted the people milling around out front. "Any one of them could be possessed by a demon. Demons can jump from body to body too, right?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed in his ear, leaning over his shoulder to look. "Doesn't look good, does it?"

Dean shrugged. "Wouldn't be too bad if we could clear the building. Fewer people to worry about."

One of Sam's hands gripped his shoulder. "You mean, like if someone set off the fire alarm?"

Dean looked back into his brother's face. "The only people left inside would be demons and Dad," he said slowly, trying to follow Sam's train of thought. Keeping up with Sam's thoughts could be a full-time job.

Sam grinned at him. "And if we waited on the fire truck, we could snatch a couple of firefighter outfits."

Dean nodded. "Let's do it. Who pulls the alarm?"

"Me." Sam stood. "Hopefully they won't be expecting two of us. If you do it, it could tip them off that it isn't just me. You wait outside to grab the equipment off the fire truck."

"You mean knock out a couple of firefighters?" Dean clarified.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, if you're going to get picky about it."

"Nah. It's fine. Just making sure we're talking about the same thing. Get going." He pulled the Colt out to put in his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Sam demanded, alarmed. "Put that back in the trunk."

Dean glared at his younger brother. "Sam, it's the best weapon we have. We're taking it with us."

"It's what they want, Dean. We're leaving it here. In the trunk." He tapped on the trunk lid, pointing out the sigil marked in white on it. "That makes it safe from demons."

"Dude, you wrote on my car!"

Sam shoved him in the shoulder. "It keeps the gun safe from the demons. Put it back." Dean didn't move. "It's our only bargaining chip, Dean. We have to keep it safe. Put it back."

Dean groaned, popping the trunk open. Sam, apparently satisfied, turned back around to watch the apartments. Dean slipped the Colt into his back waistband when Sam wasn't looking. No way was he going where there could be demons around every corner without it. No way, not with Dad and Sam's lives on the line.

* * *

Sam adjusted the 'borrowed' firefighter helmet again. There was a reason he didn't like helmets, he decided. Too confining. The moment they were out of sight, he pulled the damn thing off. That was better, he could actually breathe now.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean demanded as he checked each apartment door they passed. "Didn't you ever want to be a fireman when you grew up?"

Sam grimaced at the suggestion. "Dude, I already piss off demons for a living, why would I want to break into burning houses too?"

Dean paused briefly, nodding his head. "Good point."

Sam tried the next door. It was locked and he could hear someone moving around inside. He signaled to his brother. Dean raised a red ax with a big grin. Apparently Dean was living out a childhood fantasy now. At least this was a fantasy Sam could participate in willingly and without embarrassment.

"Fire department!" Sam shouted at the locked door. "You need to evacuate the building immediately!"

Dean brought the ax down on the door. With two blows he splintered it. A third blow split it down the center. A satisfied expression on his face, Dean stepped back to kick it in. Sam wondered why Dean didn't just kick it open in the first place, that was one of his brother's specialties.

The holy water made short work of the demons standing guard. Sam was able to trap them in a closet while Dean poured a line of salt to hold them in. Dean kicked in the bedroom door and stopped, totally still. Dad had to be in there.

Sam rushed to Dean's side. Dad was tied down to the bed, unconscious. At least, he looked unconscious. Suspicious, Sam took out his flask of holy water to splash some over Dad. When he didn't get a reaction the first time, he did it again.

"Sam?" Dad's deep baritone sounded gruff and weak. "Son, why are you pouring water on me instead of untying me?"

"Uh, sorry." Sam hastily moved to cut through the duct tape securing Dad.

"Where is, uh?" Dad really looked out of it.

"Dean? He's standing guard. Come on," Sam said as he cut through the last of it. He hauled Dad's arm over his shoulders.

"Dean! I got him!" Sam shouted.

"They're coming!" Dean shouted back. Sam pulled his dad into the main room. Dean had the door propped back in place with the ax and a ring of salt around it. His brother was opening the window. "Fire escape!"

Dean motioned for Sam to move it. Sam had to practically drag Dad to the window. Dean rushed over to help. Between the two of them, they managed to get Dad through the window and started on the fire escape. Before the three of them reached the ground floor, Dad seemed to just give up. He hung by one arm from one of the rungs. Sam heard shouts from upstairs, demons hot on their trail.

Dean jumped down to the ground. He waved at Sam. "Drop him! I got him!"

Sam nodded, moved swiftly down to Dad. He loosened Dad's hold, trying for a controlled drop to Dean. Dad still seemed to plummet out of control the eight feet to the ground. Dean caught the brunt of Dad's weight, staggering under it before collapsing to the ground. Sam rushed to help, nearly sending himself into a face-first dive. He caught himself at the last moment, managing a slightly more graceful descent.

As he reached for Dad Sam heard a sound so distinct, so familiar, he stopped. It was the sound of fist colliding with flesh. Sam spun swiftly as Dean took another blow to the face. Dean was good in a barroom brawl, but against a demon? Not only was he totally outclassed, but a human couldn't match a demon's strength. They found that out the hard way back at Bobby's with Meg.

Sam spun the possessed man around, determined to protect Dean from that kind of beating. Poor guy had been beaten enough in his life.

* * *

Dean picked himself off the pavement, dazed. He heard the sounds of a fight nearby and his gut lurched. It had to be Sam and the guy who jumped him. That guy was possessed, had to be. It was the only explanation for the superhuman strength, and the fact he kicked Dean's ass.

As his eyes focused, he saw the guy whaling on Sam. Yep, definitely a demon then. Nobody human could possibly put Sam in that state. He pulled out the Colt, aimed.

"Hey!"

The demon looked at him, a flash of recognition for the Colt in its coal-black eyes. Dean fired. That lightning show thing happened again. That was too cool, they really needed to figure out how to make more bullets for this thing. He raced over to Sam, as fast as his bruised hip would allow.

"Sammy!" Dean slid next to his brother, pulled him up. "Sam!"

Sam looked at him with bleary eyes. "I thought I told you to leave that in the trunk," he said weakly.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled, pulling Sam up to a standing position. "Bitch me out about it later. We need to go."

Sam seemed okay on his own, so Dean hauled Dad up to head back to the car. Sam shielded his eyes from the sun as he walked back, but didn't show any other signs of a concussion or anything. Dean loaded Dad into the backseat and made sure Sam's door was closed before sliding behind the wheel.

"We need to go someplace safe," he said as the engine fired up.

Sam nodded. "I know a place."

* * *

Sam wasn't real happy with the fact Dean lied to him, hadn't locked the supernatural-killing gun up, but he couldn't exactly argue with the results. After he finished laying salt lines in the cabin doorways and windows, Sam returned to the main room where Dean sat, staring at his hands.

"Dean?" he asked softly.

Dean shook his head. "It scares me, Sam," he said. Sam could hear the frightened boy tone in his brother's voice, something that had been growing more and more prevalent lately. "The things I'll do for you and Dad." Watery green eyes met his. "I never felt like I had a family before. Now, I'm not sure I want it. I killed that man, Sam. For you. I didn't think. I didn't hesitate."

Sam saw his brother's hands shake. Part of him wanted to give Dean a reassuring hug. The rational part of him knew that if he tried, he could wind up with a broken jaw.

"He was possessed," Sam assured him gently. "You didn't have a choice."

Dean nodded, leaning back, eyes closed. He took a deep breath, released it. "Here," he finally said, handing over the Colt. "You hang on to it. It's only my fight when they come after you and Dad."

Sam started to refuse, to insist that Dean hold on to the gun, but that hurt-little-boy look in his eyes made Sam want to take that responsibility on, even though Dean was clearly the most level-headed of the three of them. Probably due to the fact he didn't share any genes with Dad. Dad was a little nuts. Sam figured he must be too.

"Dean?" Dad's voice broke the strained silence. Sam slipped the Colt into his waistband. "Why don't you check the salt lines?"

Dean looked up slowly. "Sammy already did it."

Dad frowned a little. "And now I'm asking you to do it."

Dean nodded, rising to his feet. He looked a little shaky. "Yes, sir," he said clearly as he headed out of the room.

"You were right, Sam," Dad said the instant Dean was out of the room.

Sam spun around to face his father. Did Dad just say he was right? "About what?" he asked cautiously.

"The Colt," Dad replied with a shrug. "It would have been safer in the car." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't think we should trust him with it anyway."

Sam studied the man standing before him. "Why not?"

Dad leaned in closer. "He's not one of us. Not really." He held out a hand. "Why don't you give it to me, for safekeeping?"

Sam started to pull it out of his waistband, automatically responding to Dad's request, but there was something wrong. He held it in his hand, analyzing his father. "Not one of us?"

Dad shook his head as the lights started to flicker. "It's coming," Dad hissed. "Give me the gun!"

Sam took a step back. Dean raced in from the bedrooms, eyes wide. "Is it them?"

"Sam! The gun!" Dad barked.

Sam raised it slowly, aiming it at Dad's chest. "I don't think so."

"Sam?" Dean's voice no longer had that little-boy-lost tone, it was all business now.

"Get over here, Dean," Sam ordered.

"Dean, he's lost it," Dad said. "Take the Colt away from him."

Dean looked between them before moving behind Sam. "Sam? What are you doing?"

"I don't think it's Dad," Sam said slowly. "I think something has been in him since we rescued him. I think they let us get away."

Dad sighed, rolling his eyes. "Paranoid Sammy. Some things never change, right Dean?"

"Keep talking," Dean encouraged, a subtle nudge to Sam's ribs.

"If I ever said Dean wasn't one of us, Dad would probably knock me flat on my ass." Sam cocked the gun. "You're not Dad."

"If you're so sure of that, why don't you shoot me, Sammy? Go on, shoot." Dad looked up as the lights flashed dramatically. "But you'd better make up your mind before something makes it up for you."

He could feel Dean's eyes on him, the nervous energy pulsing from his brother. God, why couldn't their lives ever be simple? Were they cursed or something?

Sam slowly lowered the Colt, unable to just shoot his father. At least, not without more proof.

Dad smiled. "That's what I thought."

Dean let out an 'oomph' sound. Sam spun, just in time to see Dean slammed into the far wall.

"Should have trusted your instincts, son." Dad's eyes flashed fire-yellow. Crap. Then Sam felt that now familiar sensation of being thrown by psychic forces. It wasn't the being thrown part that he hated, it was the collision with the wall. This time it probably jarred some fillings loose. "But now I've got you."

Possessed Dad smiled at them as he picked up the Colt from where it had fallen on the floor. "You have no idea how much trouble this thing has caused." He shook his head. "At least it's safe now."

He set the Colt on the table, motioned to it. "There it is, psychic-boy. Go on. Get it." He smiled maliciously. "It's the only way, you know."

Sam tried, he did, but those weird psychic events just happened, he had no control over them. What did the demon know about it anyway?

Possessed Dad smiled at him, those yellow eyes pulsing with energy. "I have plans for you, Sammy. You and all the others like you." It chuckled, a slow sound which made Sam think it was going to drag this out far longer than it needed.

He stopped by Dean, leering at him. "You need them a whole lot more than they need you, you know." He snorted disdainfully. "Honestly, I don't know what dear old dad was thinking, picking you."

"What plans?" Sam demanded, attempting to draw the demon's attention away from Dean. Smoldering yellow eyes focused on him.

"Oh, Sammy-boy..." Dad's smile was malicious and so un-dad-like. "Always with the questions. You do realize how much that annoys Daddy dearest, not to mention your little fan club over there?" He motioned to Dean.

"John finally found a smart weapon, one he could just unchain and let loose. Well, not exactly smart," he sniggered.

"Dad," Dean pleaded, "I know you're in there. Don't let it hurt us."

"Shut up!" Dad's hand waved and Dean's head snapped to the side. Sam held his breath, hoping and praying he didn't hear bones snapping. Dean's limp body slid heavily to the floor, hitting with a lifeless thump. "I'm not your father, you pitiful, sniveling..."

"Bastard!" Sam shouted, blood boiling. "Get the hell away from my brother!"

Those glowing yellow eyes shifted to him now. "Oh, Sammy. Such fire and spirit. Yes. You're my favorite, you know. I have such plans for you."

Sam's stomach twisted painfully. What plans? What happened to Dean?

"Dad..." Dean's voice, weak but his, came from the floor. "Don't let it...get Sam. Dad."

It turned on Dean again, a scowl on Dad's face. But then those yellow eyes flickered. He stopped, confusion crossing his face. The glowing yellow lights in Dad's eyes faded. He looked like himself again, and promptly fell to the floor.

Sam felt the invisible bonds give way. The moment his feet touched the floor, he raced forward, snatched the Colt, trained it on Dad.

"Do it," Dad hissed. "Sam, shoot me, son. Right in the heart. End this now."

Sam aimed, but he faltered, his hand dropping. How could he just shoot Dad?

"I can't hold it for much longer, Sam," Dad groaned, like he was in pain. "Shoot. That's an order."

An order. Sam lifted the gun, took aim, applied pressure to the trigger.

"Sam." Dean's voice was a surprise. He couldn't look over there. Sam knew Dean would see this as the ultimate betrayal. "Don't," Dean begged. "You can't. Sam. Don't."

Alarmed by Dean's begging, Sam glanced over at his brother. Big brother. At the look on Dean's face, the horror there, Sam knew he couldn't do it. He turned back to Dad, grimacing. Sam lowered his aim, shot Dad through the leg. Dad screamed and black smoke poured out of his mouth.

Relieved, Sam watched until all the demon presence was gone. He grabbed Dad by the hand, hauled him to his feet. Dad shot him a glare, until his eyes came to rest on Dean.

"Crap," Dad breathed, limping in Dean's direction.

Dean's eyes were closed, a thin trickle of blood running out of his mouth. One side of his face was dark red, the promise of a deep bruise. Sam's heart felt heavy in his chest as he and Dad lifted Dean up, carried him to the car. He thought he remembered a hospital not too far away. The doctors at the hospital would fix Dean. Dean wasn't hurt that bad. The doctors could fix him. Sam repeated the litany in his head as they put Dean in the backseat. The doctors could fix him. He wasn't hurt that bad. The hospital was close. There were doctors who could help Dean, they just needed to hurry.

Hurry.


	18. Ch18:Hospital Blues

Yes – a new chapter! I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Big thanks as always to my wonderful editors and readers. Those of you kind enough to leave reviews, and you know who you are, are always awesome. On with the AU!

**Chapter 18: Hospital Blues**

(AU replacement for IMTOD)

Sam heard the noises and lots of voices shouting. His eyes did not want to open, however. Something niggled at the back of his mind, something that he should be worried about. That something pressed forward hard, demanding his attention. Sam was perfectly content to ignore it and everything else, especially the heavy sounds of a helicopter. Helicopter sounds never meant anything good. If all of Dad's Viet Nam stories were to be believed, the sound of a helicopter always meant a battle. Usually the wounded were carried off by chopper.

Wounded.

The word echoed around for a while, making his head hurt. Sam wanted to ignore it, like everything else, but it would not go away. Wounded. Were there wounded? Was that the reason for the helicopter?

His eyes flashed open. "Dad!" Sam looked up into a stranger's face. "Dean!" he shouted.

The stranger put a restraining hand on Sam's chest. "Easy, kid," he said in a neutral voice. "We'll get you to the hospital real soon."

"But my dad and my brother!" Sam protested, trying to sit up. He discovered he was strapped to one of those gurneys, or whatever the hell they were called. Sam had always assumed that he would be able to break free of those wimpy-looking straps if he really wanted. He was wrong. The strangers hovering over him threatened to put him under if he didn't quit struggling. They also refused to tell him if Dad and Dean were even alive. His last lucid thought was about how he wanted to use these straps on the bastards holding him hostage. He shouted threats at them even as the needle plunged into his arm.

* * *

His mouth felt dry and fuzzy. Sam smacked his lips, wanting some water. His lips felt funny, like they were huge and not completely connected to the rest of his face. With an effort, Sam forced his eyes to open. Boring. Plain ceiling with those stupid fluorescent lights like they had in hospitals. He rolled his head to one side and was greeted with the sight of hospital monitors with lots of flashing lights and graphs and things. Cool.

He rolled his head to the other side. There was an empty chair pulled up next to the bed, like someone had been sitting there. Sam tried sitting up, after all nothing hurt, but he couldn't. A little investigative work, namely looking down at himself, showed that he was strapped to the bed. Now why would they do that?

Sam tried wetting his lips with his dry tongue. It didn't help much. "Hey!" he managed to croak, but it certainly was not loud enough to reach the doorway much less a nurses' station. There should be a call button or something. Sam tried looking for it, but his vision started to swim. Actually, it was kind of interesting. Colors from the monitors spread, bleeding into the walls and the sheets. Sam laughed to himself, twisting his head from side to side to watch the effect.

"Oh, we're awake." A voice came from his other side. Sam bobbed his head in agreement, the colors bobbing with his movements. That was so awesome! Dean had to try this. Really.

"I'm sure your father will be back soon," the voice continued. Interested now, Sam turned to see the source of this voice. An older man in a white doctor's coat walked up to his bed holding a chart. "He has insisted on checking on you and your brother personally." The doctor leaned over to whisper, "I don't think he trusts the nurses."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "He has his reasons." The light from the fluorescent panels in the ceiling caused streaks over the doctor's face, obscuring Sam's view. "Good reasons," he added.

The doctor seemed to be waiting for something, but Sam couldn't figure out what.

"Where is my brother?" Sam asked, pulling experimentally at his bonds. There was no give whatsoever. Figured. "I want to see him."

The doctor chuckled, which Sam found very irritating. The chuckle caused a ripple on his light smears. "I'm sorry, but you're not moving out of that bed for at least a week."

"You just said that my Dad is running between me and Dean, and he has a gunshot wound. I don't." Sam glared at the doctor, whose face was still blurry. Blurry people shouldn't be allowed to be unreasonable. "And why am I tied up?"

"Restrained," the doctor said in a voice much like a high school English teacher, "and you've been sedated. For your own good. That was a pretty nasty blow you took to the head. You've been raving about demons and monsters for hours. And I thought I had bad nightmares. You should consider therapy."

Sam stared, not really comprehending what the doctor was going on about. Stupid, frigging, unreasonable doctors. And why the hell was Dad running between him and Dean? "Wait a minute," he said slowly, attempting to put words together coherently. "Where's Dean? What's wrong with him?" The doctor did not answer right away. "What is it?" Sam demanded, pushing against the straps holding him down. "What's wrong!"

The doctor took a step back. "We might need some more sedatives here."

"Where's Dean!"

* * *

"Where's Dean!" Sam's voice echoed in the otherwise quiet hospital halls. John limped as quickly as he could to his younger son's room. The nurses had assured him Sam wouldn't be waking any time soon. Stupid nurses.

John grasped the doorframe as he slid into Sam's room. Sam was awake, that was pretty clear. His son strained against the straps holding him to the bed, neck muscles corded and taut, face turning red with exertion. A doctor stood over Sam, threatening more sedation.

"Sam!" John snapped, making his way to the bed. "Lie down!" he ordered in his best drill sergeant voice. Sam hated and resented it when John used it, but it always worked. Sam instantly lay back down, though he continued to glare at the doctor.

John waved the doctor out of the room. The man looked relieved, though he made another threat of sedatives if Sam did not remain calm and cooperative. When John got a good look at his son, he knew part of Sam's problem was overmedication. Sam's eyes were wide and bleary, like he couldn't focus. When Sam had trouble thinking, he became angry and tended to take it out on everyone he considered 'unreasonable'. John figured he would be next.

He sat on the edge of Sam's bed so he could rest a comforting hand on his son's arm. With a gentle squeeze, he asked, "How's the head?"

Sam squinted up at him. "Hurts," he said in a little boy voice. His unfocused eyes wavered across John's face. "Where's Dean?"

John took a deep breath. He had hoped Sam wouldn't ask, at least not right away. "ICU. He's still out."

Sam's brow creased. "ICU? Why? What's wrong with him?" One arm struggled under the restraints.

John shifted to put his hand in Sam's, give his son some illusion of control. "Easy, Sammy. Don't get all worked up. The doctors say he's got a good chance. There's some internal bleeding and a couple of bruised organs, but that's not what has them worried."

"Dad?" Sam looked up at John with the same eyes that he had when he was a kid, those eyes that looked to John to fix everything wrong with the world. John had fallen far short of those expectations, time and again. "What's wrong?" His voice was soft yet demanding.

"Uh..." John cleared his throat. "It's his head. He took a pretty nasty blow when that semi hit us."

"Semi?" Sam's confused eyes wandered over the room. "That would explain the hospital. How's the car?"

John just stared at Sam for a moment, not quite processing that. Sam never really cared about the Impala.

"Because Dean's going to be pissed if it's bad," Sam explained.

John could not help but smile at his youngest. "Dean's going to be pissed," he confirmed.

"Damn," Sam breathed out. "Where is it?"

"I called Bobby. He's going to haul it back to his place," John said.

Sam nodded, his brow creasing with thought. "Dean and Bobby don't get along too well," he said slowly. "Tell Bobby to behave himself after we get out of here."

"Sure, Sam," John promised, running his fingers through Sam's shaggy bangs. "You just go back to sleep now. I can stay here for a while, make sure they don't slip you more drugs."

Sam yawned as he nodded. "Better get back to Dean's room," he said sleepily. "If he wakes up by himself he thinks he's been abandoned." One hand attempted to point a finger at John. "Your fault. Go fix it." Sam's eyes slipped closed.

John ran his fingers through Sam's hair again. "Okay, son. I'll do that. But I'll always come when you start yelling."

The ends of Sam's mouth creased upwards in a slight grin before it was broken by a light snore. John waited a few minutes, to be sure Sam was asleep, before heading back to ICU. The sight that greeted him there never failed to make his blood run cold.

Dean had all kinds of wires and tubes running in and out of his body, a ventilator breathed for him, and the room was full of the constant pinging of monitors. His face was waxy pale, except for the deep purpling on one side. Unfortunately John remembered all too well how that happened. The sound of Dean's head hitting the wall still echoed in his mind, the sickening thump of his slack body falling to the floor. This was the reason he left in the first place, the reason he had abandoned Dean, to save the kid from additional pain and suffering. Great job on that, Winchester.

"Mister Adams," the breathless voice of Dean's doctor came from behind. John paused before retaking his chair. "I need to speak with you about Gerald."

"You mean Sam?" he asked, not turning around. "What about him? He's asleep."

"Yes, sir. At the moment. Do both of your sons go by their middle names?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah. Family tradition." John sank into the chair at Dean's bedside, grateful to take the weight off his right leg. It was starting to throb painfully. As long as it didn't start bleeding again, they couldn't make him leave his sons. "What about Sam?"

He noticed Dean's heart monitor speed up. Interesting.

"When he does wake, he isn't lucid and becomes violent. We need to keep him fully sedated for now, at least until his injuries are better."

Dean's heart monitor spiked.

"No," John replied calmly. Dean's monitor instantly evened out. He was listening. "As a matter of fact, you need to take Sam off those sedatives. Just give him the minimum he needs to control any pain he might be in and lay off the rest." John turned in his chair to regard the doctor. "A drugged Sam is an irrational Sam. If you want him under control, he needs to be lucid. Any time he starts to wake up, come get me. I'll make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

He redirected his attention to Dean. "I'll be right here." There was another blip on the heart monitor.

John waited until the doctor left before he spoke again. "Yeah, I'm here, Dean. I'm not leaving unless Sammy needs me, okay? I'm staying right here." Another answering blip on the heart monitor. John grinned at it. Dean was still inside there, someplace.

* * *

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse rushed into Dean's area, "only one visitor is allowed in ICU at a time. One of you will have to leave."

John cocked his head to glare at her, seeing Sam do the same from the other side of Dean's bed.

"Make me," Sam growled. The nurse backed away, a shocked look on her face. John chuckled to himself as he redirected his attention to Dean's still form.

"What's so funny?" Sam demanded after the nurse left.

John smiled at his boy. "You. I never knew you could be scary like that, Sammy."

Sam shrugged, but a smile pulled at his lips. "I learned from the best," he replied.

"Smartass," John snapped. "You weren't that scary with Hanes."

Sam frowned over Dean. "I tried to be. I wasn't?"

John shook his head. "Maybe you need more practice." Sam did not respond. When the silence reached a critical level, John cleared his throat. "Good to see you two getting along."

Sam snorted. "Never thought we'd meet, did you?"

John lifted his head to meet Sam's gaze dead-on. "Honestly?" he asked. Sam's glare hardened. Of course Sam wanted an honest answer. "No. I didn't. Dean asked to meet you I don't know how many times. Even made me go to Stanford, check up on you. Make sure you were okay."

Sam's gaze softened, shifted back to Dean. "Really? He was looking out for me back then, too?" Sam shook his head at Dean. "You know, Dad, when you picked out a big brother for me, you did a damn good job."

"I know," John admitted softly, his thumb rubbing the back of Dean's hand in soft circles. He hoped Dean could feel this, would know they were here waiting for him to wake up.

"He's probably better at it than the original would have been," Sam said softly.

John stiffened, squeezing his eyes shut. Blindsided by two semis in the same week just wasn't fair. How could Sam know about that? Too god-damned smart for his own good, that was Sam's problem. Just too god-damned smart. He couldn't respond. His throat closed up and he was having trouble breathing. Then he felt a strong hand gripping his good shoulder.

"It's okay, Dad. I get it now. We don't have to talk about it, I just wanted you to know that I get it. And it's okay." Sam's voice was soft and soothing and the hand on his shoulder gripped so tight it would probably leave bruises.

"Gonna leave a mark," John managed to force out, eyes still closed.

The hand on his shoulder loosened but didn't let go. "Dad?"

John forced his eyes to open, to meet Sam's heavy gaze. "Hmm?"

Sam gave him a sad smile. "Think we should tell the doctors about the last time Dean took a nasty blow to the head? It took him three days to wake up from that. It hasn't even been three full days yet."

John cleared his throat with a nod. "Sure. Go ahead."

Sam gave him a reassuring nod before standing. John almost felt sorry for this hospital, having to deal with the three of them. Actually, these people were fortunate it was Dean who was still unconscious. John smiled down at the unconscious boy in front of him. Now that was a sight he'd like to see, Dean harassing the hospital staff and flirting with all the nurses, getting them the best care possible.

"Come on, son," he said softly, not wanting to be overheard by any of the ICU staff. "You gotta wake up soon, you have Sam stressing out about you. He won't even go to bed." John glanced over at the heart monitor. He smiled as he saw it racing, comforted by Dean's reaction.

* * *

Sam stalked to the nurses' station, objective in mind. Being raised with military training certainly helped in stressful situations. He demanded they contact Dean's doctor, immediately. With the way they rushed around, Sam suspected that he scared more than one of them. Good. If they were scared, they should jump when he wanted.

He waited impatiently as the doctor returned. "Yes?" he asked at the nurses' desk. They pointed Sam out. Sam actually did not have much confidence in Dean's doctor, he looked a little too young and reminded him too much of the asshole who made the terminal prognosis after the electrocution. He did not look happy to see Sam either.

"Mister Adams," the doctor said in a severe tone, "I believe you have been confined to bedrest. You promised if we removed the restraints that you would stay put."

Sam shrugged. "I lied. Look, I just wanted to tell you about my brother. When he was fifteen, a man beat him up bad enough to put him in a coma for three days. Would that have any bearing on his current condition?"

The doctor motioned to a nurse for Dean's chart. He scanned it quickly, flipping through several pages. "It might," he finally said. "We already had an MRI and CT scan done. I'll go review those." He glared at Sam. "You really should have come forward with this sooner."

Sam shrugged. "Dad's blocked it out totally and you were keeping me sedated or I would've said something earlier."

The doctor closed his eyes, shaking his head like he couldn't believe any of this was happening. "I'll let you know after I've reviewed the scans." He let out a heavy sigh. "I take it you'll be in there?" The doctor motioned to Dean's bed.

"Where else?" Sam demanded, walking away.

"He's going to review Dean's tests again," Sam announced as he took his seat opposite Dad. Dad didn't say anything, just nodded. Sam found it difficult to look at his brother in this state. Dean was so very, very still. Even when Dean was asleep he appeared ready to jump into action, not like this.

Sam did not offer any more conversation until a doctor he did not recognize came in. He looked older than the neurologist, with a receding hairline and soft wrinkles around the eyes. "Excuse me," he said in a friendly voice. "I'm the pulmonologist. I'm going to have to ask you two to step out to the waiting area. We're going to see if Dean is ready to breathe on his own. If he is, we'll remove the ventilator."

"Do we have to leave?" Dad asked.

The pulmonologist gave them a warm smile. "I'd prefer it, yes. This usually works much better if family members are not present. I promise, I'll come get you personally."

"I don't like it," Sam said in a low growl.

"Me either," Dad replied, a firm hand on his elbow. "But we're going to do it their way. It's best for Dean."

That got Sam's attention. He allowed Dad to guide him out to the ICU waiting area. Sam kept an eye on his watch, he had no intention of waiting more than half an hour.

"Sam, are you going to pace the whole time?" Dad asked as he stretched out his right leg.

Sam glanced down in sympathy before resuming his pacing. "Yep."

Twenty-eight and a half minutes later the pulmonologist came out into the waiting area. Sam nearly knocked the poor guy over in his rush to hear about Dean. The doctor held both hands up to ward Sam off.

"Easy, now," he said with a nervous chuckle. He sat in a chair opposite Dad. "Dean is breathing on his own now. We've removed the ventilator and put him on oxygen so he doesn't have to work so hard, but I'm encouraged. I've spoken to the internist who has assured me that the internal bleeding had stopped. Many of his organs were bruised pretty severely in the accident, but physically he is starting to recover."

"Dean's tough," Dad replied in a soft voice.

"Doctor Johnson, the chief neurologist, is waiting for you in the ICU. I believe he has reviewed Dean's tests again."

Sam held out a hand to help his father up. In silence, they returned to Dean's bedside where the young doctor, who looked far too young to be chief of anything, checked Dean's eyes. He glanced at their entrance. "Take a seat," he said, returning his attention to Dean.

Sam sat nervously, anxious over what the neurologist might have to say. The doctor checked Dean over pretty thoroughly.

"Dean?" he said, an eye pinned to the heart monitor of all things. "Your dad and brother are here. They seem pretty worried about you."

Dean's heart rate picked up. The doctor smiled as he turned to face them. "He may not be conscious, but he's responsive."

"Yeah, I noticed," Dad said. "What's that mean?"

Dad noticed? When did Dad notice? Sam was starting to see his father in a whole new light, just one more thing Dean was responsible for.

"Responsive is good. We just need to wait until Dean is ready to wake up." He looked back down at the man lying so still in bed, his chest rising gently with each unassisted breath. "Hear that, Dean? Everyone is just waiting on you."

He turned back to them, flipping open a file folder. "I've checked his scans. I can see the old trauma and the new damage is in nearly the same area. That is probably the reason it's taking Dean so long to wake up. Did he suffer any memory loss last time?" the doctor asked.

Shit! Sam looked to his father in a panic. He had no idea. Sam only knew what happened from his research, Dean refused to discuss that part of his past.

"Yeah, some," Dad replied in the authoritative voice people did not argue with. "It's the reason his memory is so bad. He can't remember names at all unless he's around you a lot, or you make a big impression on him."

The doctor nodded, running a hand over his head. "You'll probably find that to be the case again. I'd expect short term memory to be affected more than long term, but we won't really know until Dean wakes. I'll leave word at the nurses' station to call me if there is any change in his condition."

"Thanks, Doc," Dad said with an outstretched hand. He gave the doctor's hand a firm shake with his eyes still on Dean.

Sam waited until they were alone. "Dean has memory loss?" he asked. "He never told me that."

Dad nodded. "Lost about a year due to a head injury, but he never told me how it happened." Dad sighed. "I never really put the two together, that Hanes was responsible. Probably a good thing, or I would've thrown him off the second story, whether Dean liked it or not."

Sam turned to look at his father again. "And if I'd known about the memory loss, I would've insisted."

Sam chuckled as Dean's monitor raced again. "Gotta wake up before you can tell us to stuff it, Dean," he told his brother and was rewarded with another spike in heart activity.

"Atta-boy," Dad rumbled. "Keep it up."


	19. Ch19:The More Things Change

**Chapter 19: The More Things Change...**

John didn't realize he had fallen asleep until a groan woke him. He lifted his head, expecting to see Sam in pain. Sam's upper body was sprawled over the foot of Dean's bed, one arm wrapped around Dean's legs and the other hanging off the side as he snored softly, his head resting against Dean's knee.

The groan sounded again. John shifted his gaze up to Dean's face. It was twisted in pain and Dean looked like he was trying to sit up.

"Hey, hey," John whispered, attempting to hold him down. "Easy, Dean. Just lay back."

Dean continued to writhe under his hands. "Dean." John tried a sterner but still quiet voice, hoping not to wake Sam. "Be still. That's an order."

Dean stiffened instantly. One eye, the one on the nonswollen side of his face, opened. John felt thoroughly scoured by the deep hazel-green orb. Then Dean nodded, resting back into the bed.

"Yes, sir," he croaked. Dean made a face. "Throat," he said, motioning to his neck.

"Probably from the ventilator," John explained. Confusion raged across Dean's face. "We're in the hospital. You were on a ventilator for a couple of days."

Dean's eyes widened in panic. He started to push up again, looking around wildly.

"Easy, son," John crooned, pushing him back again. "Sam's fine. He's right here." He released Dean's shoulder to motion to the still sleeping Sam draped across the end of Dean's bed.

Dean chuckled lightly at the sight, the tension easing from his sturdy frame. He motioned for John to come closer. "Demon?" he whispered.

John felt his fears of amnesia fade away. "Got away," he hissed back. "But don't worry about that right now. I want you to concentrate on getting better."

Dean rolled his eye, the other one being too swollen to open, but he nodded. He motioned to Sam with a questioning look.

"Sam's been here since he convinced the doctor to remove his restraints," John told him.

Both of Dean's eyebrows shot up.

John shrugged. "Sam wasn't completely rational when he woke up. I understand he took out two doctors and a nurse before they got him back under in the ER."

Dean grimaced. Before John could figure out what was bothering him, Dean kicked one knee up, waking Sam.

Sam shot upright, still clinging to Dean's legs. He blinked sleep-blurry eyes at them, then his eyes widened and a smile spread. "Dean! You're awake!"

Dean glared. Then he pointed to Sam and whispered, "You should be in bed!"

Sam frowned. "Something wrong with your throat?" he demanded.

John cleared his throat to get both of their attention. "I believe it's still sore from the ventilator."

"Oh, right," Sam nodded in agreement. He grinned again. "Good to see you awake, man."

Dean tried to cross his arms over his chest, but there were too many tubes and wires in the way. He found the one running up his nose. The questioning look was pretty clear.

"Feeding tube," John told him. Dean scowled. "Dude, you've been unconscious for two days. What'd you expect?"

Dean tugged on it, so John whipped a hand out to grab the boy's wrist. "Uh-uh. The doc needs to check you over, then we'll see about getting rid of some of this annoying crap that's been keeping you alive."

Some pink crept into the unbruised side of Dean's face. He nodded, dropping his hands. Relieved, John made eye contact with Sam. Sam jumped up and raced over to the nurses' station. As long as the staff were already scared of Sam, they might as well put it to use.

Two nurses ran in ahead of Sam's return. They had taken Dean's blood pressure and temperature, made him talk, and brought him some ice chips for his throat before the neurologist arrived. The doctor walked in slowly, as though he knew all along that Dean would be perfectly fine and there had been nothing to worry about. He checked Dean over pretty thoroughly before addressing him.

"Good to see you awake. Tell me, do you remember your name?" the doctor asked.

Dean shot John a questioning look. John gave him a quick nod.

"Dean," he replied.

The doctor smiled. "Full name?"

John mouthed 'George' at him. Dean's shoulders relaxed. "George Dean Adams." One eyebrow quirked up in amusement. "I take it you've met Sam Adams over here?" He grinned at Sam.

The doctor frowned. "He's a terrible patient," he said.

"Don't worry, Doc," Dean said in a hoarse voice, the smile dropping. "You just tell me what he needs to do, and he'll do it. Or I'll kick his ass."

Dean's gaze hardened on Sam, but Sam lit up with a brilliant grin. "You'll try," Sam said in a teasing tone John barely recognized. Then Sam turned his attention back to the doctor. "So how much longer do you need to keep him here?"

The doctor checked Dean's chart again, probably buying some time as he thought it over. "Well, I want to keep him in ICU for another day, to be sure he's through the worst. Then we'll put him in a regular room until he can get around by himself. You do have someplace quiet to stay for a few weeks, while Dean recovers?"

"Yes," Sam said quickly. "No problem."

The doctor left and Dean motioned to Sam. He whispered something in Sam's ear. Sam pulled back, giving Dean an odd look. "I'm okay, Dean. Honest. I was more worried about you."

Dean gave Sam another nasty look.

"I am _not_ going back to my room while you're still in here," Sam announced loudly, a familiar stubborn look appearing.

The sound of a foot tapping drew John's attention. "Or," the doctor said from the doorway where he had been listening, stressing the word, "I could move you both into a regular room tonight and request an additional nurse on the floor for the night shift and tomorrow morning."

Flooded with relief, John nodded his thanks.

* * *

Dean moved slowly into the backseat of Dad's truck, at Sam's insistence. Not that he could move faster, but he would have preferred the front seat. Back here he could lie down, even though he didn't want to. Dean spent the last two weeks on his back; he wanted to be up. Well, it was hard to go against Sam and those sickeningly concerned puppy dog eyes. Dad went someplace earlier, saying he was going to 'get things ready' for them, whatever that was supposed to mean.

The trip was quiet and uneventful until Dean asked where they were going. Sam stuttered a little, eventually coming up with something really lame.

"So we're headed to Bobby's?" he asked, wishing he could see Sam's reaction. Sam might be a hell of a liar, but he was pretty transparent when you got to know him.

Sam's head whipped around, eyes flashing between him and the road. Dean chuckled, which sent waves of discomfort over his ribcage, but it was worth it.

"It's okay, Sam. Bobby told me that we're welcome back. Both of us," Dean informed him. "He didn't say anything about Dad, though."

Sam's head shook, shaggy hair slashing futilely against the headrest. "No, it's okay. Dad left with Bobby this morning. Dad and Bobby get into it every couple of years. They always get over it." Then Sam let out a short bark of a laugh. "You should've seen them going at it over my sixteenth birthday. Dad forgot and Bobby really read him the riot act over it. Dad didn't talk to Bobby for nearly a year afterwards."

"What about you?" Dean asked, intrigued. No wonder Dad hadn't been more upset about being run off with a shotgun. Dean had wanted to go back and teach that Bobby guy a lesson, but Dad refused. Now he got it.

Sam's chuckle was light. "I've never stopped talking to Bobby. I might go a few months between calls, but I keep in touch."

Dean pushed up to a sit so he could see Sam in the rearview mirror. "Even after..." He didn't want to say 'Jessica.' "Even after Stanford?"

Had Sam been calling Bobby all this time? Was the demon right and they didn't really need him? Maybe Bobby was the one who really had Sam's trust.

Dean could just see Sam's brows draw together in the mirror, the familiar deep crease forming between his eyes. "No, I haven't. We've been pretty busy, I guess I didn't think of it."

Relieved, Dean sunk back into the seat. Okay, maybe he overreacted. A little.

"Lie down, Dean," Sam ordered. "We're still about an hour out."

Dean managed to mumble "pain in the ass" a few times as he shifted down. He knew his face looked terrible, but it didn't throb like it had when he first woke up. Every breath he took and move he made required concentration and pain management, but it meant he was alive. Waking up with Dad holding his hand like a girl and Sam clinging to his legs had been the best experience of his life, and wasn't that just sad?

"Hey Dean?" Sam called after he was settled in a horizontal position.

"What?" Dean found if he took a deep breath first and didn't move at all when he talked it didn't hurt.

"I don't think we should go anywhere for Thanksgiving, but I'm sure Bobby won't mind playing host. Do you think Ella would mind coming to Bobby's?" Sam asked.

"Who?" Dean considered sitting up again to see if Sam was messing with him, but he didn't think Sam would be as forgiving a second time.

"Ella." Now Sam sounded a bit put out. "Would she make the drive for Thanksgiving? I know you wanted us all to go there, but I don't think you should be doing that much traveling."

Dean stared at the back of the front seat. "Sammy? You hit your head too, right?"

Dean imagined he could hear the swish of Sam's hair as his brother's head whipped around to glance at him. "Yeah. Why?"

"How hard?" Dean demanded.

"Hard enough I still have a headache. Why, Dean?" Sam asked again. Dean recognized that anxious tone in Sam's voice, though he didn't know why it would be there.

"Because I don't know any Ella," Dean said slowly. "Maybe she's a friend of Dad's?"

Sam got real quiet, long enough that Dean thought his little brother had just blown off his question.

"We'll be at Bobby's soon," Sam finally said. "I want to talk about Ella then, with Dad."

Dean nodded to himself. This was good. If this Ella was a friend of Dad's, then Dad could set Sam straight. Poor kid was clearly confused as hell and Dean still had the dude with the jackhammer whaling away at the inside of his skull, so he wasn't thinking straight either. It wasn't like he had a good memory for names anyway. Hell, Ella could be some chick he hooked up with a few weeks back and promised to go see for Thanksgiving. He wondered if she was a good cook.

* * *

Bobby leaned back on one foot, trying to see if he could spot the Impala. Sam insisted he hide it out of view from the front of the house, so it was around the side behind a stack of junkers. Sam promised if he didn't upset Dean, they would be staying here for a while. Bobby was kind of a sucker when it came to that boy, he was even willing to put up with this Dean character John hooked up with. What Sam saw in the arrogant, swaggering jackass was beyond him, but Bobby could deal. He could. If he kept telling himself that, he might even start to believe it.

"Bobby!" Winchester's deep baritone rang through the yard. That man was a royal pain in the ass. "Think we have time for another trip to the store?"

Satisfied with his job of hiding the Impala, Bobby turned to face the man he regarded as more of a brother than a friend. Good thing, too, otherwise Bobby would have shot the ass long ago.

"Now what?" he demanded. "I forget an ingredient for one of your extra protection wards?"

"Nah." John limped across the yard. "I wanted to buy some double chocolate, chocolate chunk ice cream. It's Dean's favorite."

Bobby ground his teeth. Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean. The Winchester vocabulary had been reduced to a single syllable, and it was pissing him off.

"I already have homemade vanilla," Bobby said in as calm a voice as he could manage.

John scowled. "Vanilla's boring, Bobby."

Bobby held John's gaze. "It's Sam's favorite, John."

John let out a heavy sigh as he moved to stand beside Bobby. One of John's hands gripped his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Mine too, Bobby. Or did you forget?"

He refused to look over, to see whatever expression was on John's face. "Nah," he admitted after a strained silence, "I didn't forget."

"I just want to soften the blow," John said, waving at the hidden Impala. "That boy is gonna blow a gasket. I'd hate for him to rupture something else."

Bobby did turn his head to look at John now. "How bad is he?"

John gave him a questioning look. "Don't tell me you're worried about him, Bobby."

Bobby looked away again. "Not really, just wondering."

The hand on his shoulder squeezed again before falling away. "Careful, Bobby." John limped towards the house. "That kid has a way of getting past your defenses. Before you know it, you start to give a damn. And then..." John glanced back at Bobby as he opened the door. "Then he's got you. And the scary part is, he can't see how much of a damn you give."

The sharp report of the front door slamming closed shot through the salvage yard. Bobby stared at the closed door until John's voice came through an open window.

"You planning to stand out there all day, or you going to help?" John shouted from inside the house.

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck, figuring the knots in his muscles there were only a prelude to the days ahead. With slow steps, he made his way back to the house. John probably wanted him to mop the kitchen floor or some shit now. Sam had better show up soon, if he wanted to find his father conscious and breathing. As his fingers wrapped around the cool metal of his doorknob, Bobby heard the sound of a large motor turning down his drive.

"Thank God," he muttered, hoping at the very least for a customer.

John's truck pulled into view. Bobby could only see Sam inside the cab. Did he leave Dean someplace? Or maybe the hospital decided not to release him yet? Nah, probably just wishful thinking.

Sam gave him a wave through the windshield before turning around in his seat. Then Sam got out to hold the passenger door open and the seat up. With his free hand, Sam helped Dean out of the back.

John had warned him that Dean had taken a pretty good beating from the demon as well as in the wreck, but that didn't prepare Bobby for this. One side of Dean's face was ghostly pale, something Bobby had familiarity with, while the other side was covered in one huge purple and red blotch. He moved slow, as if all his movements were weighted. When he stood on both feet, Dean glanced up toward the house. Bobby could see the eye on the bruised side of his face was heavily bloodshot, actually it was redder than bloodshot, like it had been damaged. Dean headed towards the house with Sam chastising him every few feet for walking too fast. Before they reached the door Bobby was sick of Sam's comments, he could only imagine how Dean felt.

"Sam? Why don't you go on in and see if the couch is ready? It doesn't look like Dean needs to be taking the stairs. I'll keep an eye on him." Bobby waved for Sam to go inside.

Sam hesitated over Bobby's suggestion, and that was a first. Dean gave the boy a quick nod. In turn, Sam gave Bobby a strong look warning him to behave before heading inside the house.

Bobby stepped closer, close enough to catch Dean if he stumbled but not close enough to actually touch. "You do want the couch?" he asked softly.

Dean turned his head and gave Bobby a lop-sided grin. Bobby couldn't remember if Dean had always grinned like that or if it might be a result of the accident.

"Yeah. And thanks for the break from Mother-Sam. He's driving me nuts," Dean replied, a certain sparkle in his clear eye.

"Yeah, well, enjoy it. In about two minutes you'll have to deal with both of 'em," Bobby said gruffly.

Dean's grin broadened. "I know," he chuckled. Then he paused, wrapping one arm around his middle.

"You all right?" Bobby demanded, moving a little closer.

Dean shook his head. "Fine. It's fine. Wasn't ready to laugh, that's all." He took a few breaths, like he needed air to get through the pain. Then Dean fixed his eyes on Bobby, a determined look on his bruised features. "What happened to my car? Sam won't tell me."

Bobby shook his head. After being forced to hide it in order to prevent Dean additional stress, there was no way Bobby was just going to spill the beans like that. "Ask Sam," he insisted.

They reached the door. Dean leaned up against it, the arm still wrapped around his middle. "Dude, I'm a mechanic. It's not like I can't fix it. Just tell me."

Bobby sighed. Dean might not have been born a Winchester, but he certainly shared the stubbornness. "No. Sam'll be pissed."

"Bobby," Dean said in a sigh. "Really, man, Sam doesn't give me enough credit on some things. He's afraid I'll be mad at him because he was driving. Honestly, I'm just glad Sam and Dad are alive. Now how bad is the car?"

Bobby scratched his jaw, wanting John to shout for him or Sam to appear demanding air freshener or something. He couldn't think of one more excuse. If he didn't start treating Dean like he was a human being now, Bobby wasn't sure he would ever be able to.

"One of the rear blinkers still works," he said.

Dean's gaze shifted out to the piles of cars. "You didn't stack it, did you?"

"What? And have Sam shoot me?" Bobby demanded. "You think I'm crazy?"

Dean's attention shifted back to him, a trace of the earlier smile returning. "Well, you have been known to chase off your best friend. With a shotgun."

Bobby looked skyward, as if help would come from there. "Just gonna keep throwing that in my face, are ya?"

When he looked down again, he found a little more of the cocky smile. "Better believe it," Dean replied. "And for that, I'm recruiting you to help with the Impala. Sam isn't touching it. Last time he tried to check the oil he couldn't find the oil cap, but he did find a 7-10 cap."

Bobby groaned. "God, I thought he'd picked up a little more than that."

"You and Dad were seriously slacking in his important education," Dean informed him as Bobby opened the door.

"Apparently," Bobby agreed, watching the poor kid step laboriously over the threshold. "So I help with the car and I'm off the hook. Is that it?"

"We'll see," Sam said, appearing suddenly beside Dean.

"Cool it, Sam," Dean said with a wave. He sunk into the couch, face twisted in a grimace. When the tenseness drained from Dean's frame and the grimace was replaced with a more relaxed expression Bobby let out the breath that until then he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"I'll check on supper," Bobby announced as he made a hasty escape to the kitchen. What the hell was he doing? He did not like Dean. Period.

His homemade chili which John insisted on eating tonight was simmering away, filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma. Bobby stirred it a couple of times. Dean did look like he could use a few good meals, might put some color back in the good side of his face.

The wooden spoon banged against the far wall, leaving a dark red-brown smudge on the cabinet. Bobby glared at his hand, tiny splatters of chili freckling his forearm.

The kitchen door swung open. "Hey, Bobby," John said in a soft voice. He limped in, settling against the counter. Bobby noticed John checking out the chili smear and the discarded spoon.

Bobby ignored his old friend as he rummaged in the drawers for another wooden spoon. "I think it's ready," Bobby declared as he found his ladle.

"Probably," John agreed. "But are you?"

Bobby did not turn around. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Bobby, do you remember the first time I brought Sam out to meet you?" John asked. Bobby refused to look over, pretending to focus solely on the chili. "You didn't want anything to do with a little kid, kept fussing at him for messing with your books. But then Sam found us working on the Impala, I forget why. Probably another brake job. Anyway, he started asking all kinds of questions about the book he found on supernatural creatures, and he couldn't even read yet. You just melted."

"Did not," Bobby growled, swirling the chili in the pot faster.

John chuckled. "You did." He cleared his throat. "Bobby, Sam told me what you said, about thinking I was trying to replace him." His voice dropped to a serious tone. "I guess I should've warned you, or at least told you what was going on, but I really didn't know how."

Bobby snorted, eyes focusing on the bubbling mass before him. "That woulda been an interestin' conversation."

"You still would've gotten the shotgun," John added.

Bobby gave a curt nod. "Probably," he admitted, glancing over to find John watching him intently. "Did you really blame me?"

John got this far-away look on his face. "Nah. I probably would've been disappointed if you hadn't. It would've meant you blamed Sam."

Bobby turned to face John. "I never blamed Sam."

John rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. "Yeah, I got that message. In spades." He stared at his feet for a moment before meeting Bobby's gaze again. "I take it you see what I meant now? About Dean?"

Bobby snorted, diverting his attention back to the chili.

"Don't bother fighting it, Bobby," John said in a careful voice. "It'll just take longer that way. You can ask Sam about that. You know, I never knew Sam didn't want a brother. I guess I just assumed he would want two boys in the family, because I did."

"Do what?" Bobby glared at his old friend. "Why?"

John shrugged, moving away. "I'm going to check on them, make sure Sam isn't smothering poor Dean. Sam wasn't this overbearing when we left the hospital."

"You think something happened?" Bobby asked quickly, before John had a chance to leave. "On the way?"

John shrugged, leaning on the doorframe. "It didn't look like it, but maybe. I'll send Sam in to help with the chili. It smells ready."

"It'll keep if no one is hungry yet," Bobby offered. Simmering never hurt chili and usually improved the flavor.

John laughed at him. "Dean is always hungry. If you ever see that boy actually turn down food, find the nearest doctor and fast."

Bobby shrugged, like he didn't care. "Yeah, sure. I'll keep that in mind."

"I'd appreciate it," John replied seriously.

Bobby directed his attention to the man standing in his kitchen. "Why? You planning to take off again?" John looked away, pushing off the wall and squaring his shoulders. "John?"

He kind of thought John ought to have an answer. "John!" Bobby hissed.

John just shot Bobby a glare as he pushed through the door. Bobby ground his teeth, turning back to his chili. Stupid-ass. He was surrounded by stupid-asses. God-damned Winchesters!


	20. Ch20:Recuperation

The weather is nasty and I'm hiding out at home. So here's the new chapter! Thanks again to everyone following this. One of my editors has gone quiet, so this chapter only passed through a single filter, because I just didn't want to wait any more.

**Chapter 20: Recuperation**

Dean discovered he liked it when Bobby spoke up, because it usually deflected the current topic off of him. Sam was all in a twist about some chick. Ellen? Or was it Eve? Whatever. Didn't matter.

"But he doesn't remember her, Dad," Sam argued over a steaming bowl of chili.

"The chili is awesome, Bobby," Dean said between mouthfuls, desperately attempting to ignore Sam.

Dad shrugged. "Means I don't have to meet her. So? I didn't think you were that impressed with her anyway."

"Family recipe," Bobby told him. "My dad taught me everything I know about chili."

"Not the point, Dad," Sam stated, setting his empty bowl aside. "The point," he said slowly, like Dad was suddenly dense, "is that the doctor told us to look for signs of memory loss. I'm pretty sure this counts!"

"Sam and I crashed a chili contest in Texas," Dean told Bobby. "This would at least place."

"In a Texas chili contest?" Bobby snorted. "Boy, don't insult my daddy's chili."

Insult? He was trying to be nice. Dean took a quick glance at Bobby, but the old dude looked kind of pleased, not upset at all.

Dean tried another small grin. "Sorry. Wasn't thinking." Bobby snorted in response, but still didn't look upset. Maybe Sam was right and the old dude wasn't so bad.

"Give it a few days, Sam," Dad said before draining the chili still in his bowl. Dad wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Anybody want seconds? Dean?"

Dean held out his bowl for Dad to take. It wasn't quite empty, but Dean didn't want to pass up the opportunity for more and he didn't want to go refill his bowl himself.

"Dean?" Sam whispered the moment Dad disappeared into the kitchen. "Your bowl wasn't empty."

"I know," Dean hissed back. "Dad offered to get seconds for me. Did you really think I'd pass that up?"

"You didn't think he'd wait until you were ready?" Bobby asked, leaning forward to look Dean in the face.

Wait? Dad? Bobby had to be pulling his leg. "Good one," Dean said, again trying to be complimentary. Again he got weird looks, but this time from Sam too. "Anything other than the blinker working on the car?" he asked Bobby, wanting to shift to a more comfortable topic.

Sam's head snapped to the side. "You told him?" Sam sounded pissed.

"Relax, Sam. I made him," Dean told his little brother before Bobby had time to respond. "I was getting stressed just wondering what happened to my car."

"Have you seen it?" Sam demanded.

"No, Sam. He hasn't," Bobby assured him. "And I don't know if anything else works," he added, looking at Dean. "Sam didn't want me to do anything other than haul it here. But I got to tell you, it's going to take a hell of a lot of work to get it running again."

Dean groaned, relaxing back into the sofa. He hoped Bobby wasn't trying to soften the blow and it was exactly as bad as it sounded, not worse. "How long can we stay, Bobby? It sounds like I have a lot of work to do."

"We have a lot of work to do," Dad said, striding across the room carrying two bowls of chili. He handed one to Dean before sitting down. "But you're going to take it easy for at least a week, then the three of us will evaluate the car."

"Yeah," Sam added.

Dean gave him a funny look. "Three of us, Sam. Me, Dad and Bobby."

"I can help," Sam protested, his eyes darting between the three of them. "I can!"

Dean laughed, waves of pain cascading over his ribcage. He wrapped his free arm around his abdomen, choking back additional laughter. Sam help with a car? "What – what are you going to do?" he choked out. "Find a book on restoring cars?"

Sam got a funny look on his face. Oh, he didn't, did he? It was too much, Dean couldn't hold back his laughter. He set his bowl on the arm of the couch so he could use both arms around his middle as guffaws of laughter forced their way up. Tears sprung from his eyes, trickling down his cheeks. He was laughing so hard, he probably had fresh bruises on his left lung. Oh, God, it hurt! But he couldn't stop.

"Dean!" Sam's worried face wavered into view, shaggy bangs tickling his nose. "Dean, breathe!"

He peeled one arm off away from his abdomen to fist into the couch. Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he forced in a deep breath. He let it out slowly. After a second slow breath, Dean opened his eyes. Three sets of eyes peered anxiously at him. He used his free hand to wipe the tears of painful laughter away.

"Dean?" One of Dad's hands gripped his shoulder gently, like Dad was afraid of hurting him. "You all right, son?"

Dean beamed at Dad. "Sam's gonna ... learn ... how to ... restore a car ... from a ... book," he choked out, his speech punctuated by bursts of chuckles.

Dad's craggy face broke into a smile. "I heard. Should be interesting, huh?"

"Awesome," Dean breathed. He shifted his eyes to Sam, who was looking a little pissed off. "Sam, did that book tell you what the 7-10 cap is for?"

Sam's jaw clenched, a muscle in the left cheek jumping twice. "No," he snapped. "But I'll figure it out."

Dad barked out a loud laugh. Bobby just dropped his head, shaking it slowly. Dean grinned broadly. This was going to be fun.

"Good on chili, Dean?" Sam asked later, motioning to the empty bowl.

Dean studied his bowl for a moment before holding it up. "One more before bed," he said.

Sam groaned as he crossed the room for the bowl. "Great, and we're sharing a room," he muttered.

"There's always the couch," Dean offered with a sparkle in his eye. Bobby chuckled a little at that, earning a glare from Sam.

* * *

Fun? Did Dean really call this fun? Sam glared at the hot blue sky, not a cloud in it. No sign of relief approaching either in the form of shade or rain. He peeled off his sweat soaked shirt, tossing it over the frame of the Impala. Since he didn't know a damn thing about cars, in Dean's words, Sam was relegated to heavy lifting and fetching. He had been learning the names of most of the tools this way. It was a little surprising that the person most patient with him was Dean.

"Sam!" Dean shouted.

Sam walked over to Dean's station. Dean sat on a stool beside an engine stand with the Impala's motor mounted on it.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, grateful to be in a little shade. Bobby and Dad set Dean up in the primo spot out here, the only shaded work area. Now that he was closer, Sam could see Dean looked a bit worn out today. Maybe big bro didn't get enough sleep last night.

Dean jerked his head to the side, wanting Sam closer. Sam took a couple more steps.

"How about a break?" Dean suggested in a voice that wouldn't carry. His shirt was soaked through and sweat ran down the sides of his face in streams.

"Later," Bobby interrupted, dragging the back seat from the Impala with Dad helping. "Check this out first."

Dean took a deep breath as he turned around on his stool. "Damn," he breathed. "What the hell happened there?"

Sam flinched when he saw half the seat covered with blood. "You did," he told his brother softly. Sam glared at Dad. "Why'd you bring that out here?"

"We had to," Bobby replied, not looking at Sam. "Well? Repair or replace?"

"Repair," Dean said. "Put it over there. I'll go over it later."

"Why not now?" Bobby asked as he braced himself on the bench seat.

"Because we're taking a break," Sam interjected. When Bobby's mouth opened again, Sam gave him the 'shut up or die' look.

"Good idea," Dad added, moving between Bobby and Dean. "You two go ahead. We'll join you in a few."

Sam stayed close as Dean slid off the stool and headed toward the house. Dean was moving better these days, not normal yet but the fact he could see so much improvement was heartening. Sam waited until after Dean chose to sink slowly into the armchair before crashing on the sofa.

"I wanted to clean up that seat before you saw it," Sam told him.

Dean waved him off, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. "Stop fussing, Sam. It's fine. We're just trying to get things done."

"I know, but..." Sam didn't know how to put it into words, what exactly he wanted Dean to understand. "They shouldn't have shown it to you. Not like that."

Deep hazel green peered at him through a slitted eye. "Not like what?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair, wondering at the fact he suddenly felt so anxious. "Like that. You know, all covered with...with...blood." The last word took some effort to force out.

Both eyes regarded him now. The eye which had been so bloodshot was better now, just deep red around the iris. "Sam? Dude, it's all right. Nobody died, okay?" Dean shifted in the chair. "That probably would have felt better."

"That's it," Sam snapped, jumping to his feet. "I'm getting those pain pills and you're taking one. Right now, no arguments."

"Sam," Dean groaned. "Relax. I just need a break."

The fact Dean admitted to needing a break, not just wanting one, confirmed what Sam feared. Dean needed those pills and probably the rest of the day taking it easy. Sam intended to see his brother got exactly that. Without another word, Sam stalked from the room. He found the pain pills next to the sink upstairs, the bottle considerably lighter than when they arrived. Sam snatched it up in his hand as his eyes landed on a fresh washcloth. After soaking the washcloth in cold water, Sam headed back downstairs.

Sam passed Dean downstairs to make a quick run into the kitchen where he grabbed two beers. He returned to the den. First he handed over the washcloth, which Dean rubbed over his forehead with a blissful expression. When Dean appeared ready to just lean back with the wet cloth over his face, Sam nudged him.

"I wasn't kidding about the pills," he insisted. Dean mumbled something Sam didn't catch, but he stuck his hand out. Sam carefully poured out two pills before handing over a beer.

One of Dean's eyebrows arched up. "You're giving me painkillers with alcohol? Isn't there a warning on the label about that?"

Sam grimaced. "You need it. Just take the damn things, it's not like you're driving."

"Daredevil Sammy," Dean said in a light voice. "Who knew?" He tossed back the pills with a slug of beer. "Aaahh! I almost forgot what beer tasted like."

"Speaking of forgetting," Sam started, but Dean glared and held up a hand.

"Don't Sam. Just don't. I don't know if I've forgotten anything or how much, because if I have, I forgot it. So don't bother asking." Dean shook his head and took a long pull on his bottle of beer.

Sam knew he had to try again, preferably before Dad and Bobby came inside. "Dean, we need to talk about Jerry."

Dean made another face. "Now what? I thought this was about the chick who has your panties in a twist."

Sam eyed his brother suspiciously. He had been doing some research of his own on amnesia and memory loss. Sometimes the individual with amnesia forgot what he wanted to forget, and let's face it, Jerry had plenty of reason to want to forget.

"Dean, you do know who Jerry is?" Sam prompted.

"Sure you're gonna tell me anyway," Dean grumbled around the mouth of his beer bottle.

"Jerry Whitehead," Sam clarified.

Dean shrugged. "Some shrink you want me to see?"

Sam made a face. "I was afraid of this."

The front door squeaked as it opened, admitting Dad followed closely by Bobby. Sam held out his hand. "Give me your phone."

Dean stared at him for a moment before docilely handing over his cell. "Why?"

"Because I need to set up Thanksgiving," Sam replied and a grin spread slowly across Dean's face. Clearly he hadn't forgotten his favorite holiday.

"Sam," Dad's warning voice cut through the room.

Sam ignored his father as he searched through Dean's phone list. He found Ella's number and called, turning to find Dad's Face Of Disapproval staring at him. Sam glared back as the phone rang in his ear.

"Jerry?"

Sam cringed at the hopefulness in her voice. "Actually it's Sam." He rushed to get the next part out before she could hang up on him. "Since he can't travel, I wanted to invite you to have Thanksgiving with us."

The silence on the other end stretched out to an uncomfortable length. "Ella?" he asked, hoping she hadn't hung up.

"I'm here," she said slowly. "Why can't Jerry travel? Because you won't let him?"

"No," Sam did his best not to snap at her. "Because the doctors said no unnecessary travel."

"Doctors!" she shouted through the phone. "What the hell happened? Where is Jerry?"

Sam chewed his lower lip. Honestly, he never considered calling her. What did that mean? Was he selfish? Insensitive? And why the hell was he worrying about it?

"Our car was hit by a semi," he stated firmly. "He's only been out of the hospital for a few weeks. Are you willing come here or not?"

The sound of her breathing was a little heavy. "Where is 'here'?"

"South Dakota. Are you planning to drive or fly?" Sam asked, assuming she would come. After answering a few more questions about where Bobby lived, Sam passed the phone over to the older hunter. Bobby did not look happy about having to talk to Dean's former foster mother, but he did. Before Bobby hung up, they had a plan for Ella's arrival.

"Sam," Dad growled. "You didn't have to do that."

Sam stood up to his father. "He doesn't know Ella. He doesn't remember Jerry. What do you think we should do? Ignore it?"

Dad leaned on the arm of the couch, looking directly at Dean. "Son, do you know who I am?"

"Yes, sir," Dean replied automatically. "John Winchester."

"What am I to you?" Dad asked.

Dean eyed Bobby nervously before answering, "My dad."

"For how long?" Dad continued, sitting on the edge of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.

Dean frowned, rubbing a hand over his short hair. "Couple of years?"

"You don't sound very sure of that," Sam jumped in. "Do you remember meeting Dad?"

Dean grinned broadly. "How could I forget? I thought he was asking me out."

"You're kidding," Bobby's voice boomed in the room. "What the hell happened?"

Sam couldn't restrain his own grin. "It's a good story." He motioned to the mostly empty couch. "Dean, tell him."

Dean gave a small shrug, but Sam could tell big brother had been dying to tell somebody else this story. Dad rolled his eyes at Bobby as the older man took a seat. As Dean launched into a lengthier setup than Sam originally heard, about Dad bringing the Impala in for a tune-up, Sam slipped out to the kitchen with Dean's cell. He called Ella again.

"Now what?" she demanded before he could say anything.

"Look, I wanted to warn you. He took a pretty nasty blow to the head and..."

Whatever Sam had planned to say was cut off by a strangled noise Ella made. "His memory?" she gasped.

"Yeah, that's what I was calling about. There are some, uh, holes." Sam shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

"How big?" Her voice sounded small and unsure.

Sam cleared his throat. "He doesn't remember your name," he told her as gently as he could. "I'm hoping when he sees you he'll remember you. I just didn't want you to show up here unprepared. I don't supposed you have any pictures or anything to jog his memory?"

"I'll, uh, I'll check. I might have one or two." She sounded on the verge of bursting into tears. "Excuse me, but I need to hang up now."

"Uh, bye." There was no response, just a loss of the connection. Sam stuffed Dean's phone into his pocket.

He shouldered his way through the kitchen door, greeted by Dean's energetic voice. "So I told him, Dude, I don't swing that way."

Bobby actually laughed. Their old friend, more family than friend really, seemed pretty relaxed around Dean these days. It might have something to do with them all living under the same roof, Sam wasn't sure.

"Turned out he was just after information on a Wendigo. And I was convinced it was my magnificent bod." Dean shrugged, swallowing down another mouthful of beer. He glanced up, his eyes meeting Sam's. Dean swallowed hurriedly. "Funny thing is, later Sam and I had almost the exact same conversation, in reverse."

Dad turned around to look at Sam, an amused expression on his face. "Really? You thought Dean was after your magnificent bod?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply when he realized that no, he really thought Dad had been after Dean's bod. He snapped his mouth closed and shrugged, hoping that would be the end of it.

Dean barked out a short laugh. "I was trying to check out a bruise on his jaw, and Sam fell over the foot of the bed onto his ass trying to get away from me."

Now how the hell could he remember that and not his foster mother? What did Dad tell the doctor? Dean usually only remembered the names of people he either knew well or who had made a big impression on him. It sounded like Sam had certainly made an impression, maybe more so than Ella.

Dad and Bobby were both laughing at him. Well, at least Dean hadn't spilled the beans about what Sam thought had been going on between Dad and Dean. Talk about embarrassing!

"So what convinced you that Dean didn't swing your way, Sammy?" Dad asked once his laughter died down.

Sam grinned at Dad. "Dean telling me the story about how you two met," he said.

Dad rolled his eyes. "Figures," he mumbled.


	21. Ch21: Two Ornery Hound Dogs

Thanks for all the support with this story. I'll have you know, the ONLY reason John is still alive is because someone requested it in a review, because it honestly didn't occur to me before I read that particular review (which was anonymous, but still an intriguing idea).

**Ch21: Two Ornery Hound Dogs**

"I'm telling you," Bobby's voice carried clearly through the salvage yard to the house, "if we run it this way, we'll have fewer problems in the long run."

"And I'm telling you," Dean's voice answered, "it won't work here. The wires will be too close to the manifold and they'll burn. Then I'll be stuck on the side of the road with an electrical problem while you're here mixing holy water in your beer."

"We'll tie it off, like this," Bobby replied. Sam made his way to the Impala work area. "See? No problem."

Dean sighed. Sam rounded a stack of cars to see his brother leaning into the engine compartment. "No problem as long as that doesn't move. Can you guarantee it won't move?"

"Boy, nothing in life is a guarantee!" Bobby stood back, scratching his head. "But the way you want to do it will make it a bitch if you ever need to get to the wires."

Dean pulled out of the engine compartment. "You know, you're right. Usually I'd just yank the engine if I needed to get to it, but I guess I don't always have that option on the road." He scratched at his chin. "Any ideas on how to keep 'em off the manifold?"

"I done told you," Bobby said in his less-than-patient tone, "tie it off like this."

Dean frowned down at it. Sam stepped closer until he could see into the engine compartment. The motor was in now and there were lots of things attached, Sam even knew the names for some of the things thanks to Dean. It was starting to look like the Impala might be road-worthy again in his lifetime. A few weeks ago Sam would have sworn, not to anyone in this house but to perfect strangers, that the car would never make it back out on the road.

The bundled wires they were arguing over were thick and black. Sam guessed the big bump the wires were close to was the cause of all the concern. "What if you..."

He was about to suggest putting some type of heat resistant material over the bump, but he was cut off by identical glares from Dean and Bobby. "Sam, when you know what the 7-10 cap is for, you'll be allowed to put in your two cents. Until then, there's a fender over there that needs to be pounded out."

"It's my day off," Sam replied. He had a permanent ache in his neck, shoulders, upper back and arms. Who needed a home gym? All anybody who wanted to get into shape needed was a crushed car and a brother and father with the single-minded drive to get it back on the road. "I just came out to see if anybody wanted something to drink."

"Beer," Dean replied instantly. Sam had noticed Dean never turned down an offer to get something for him. It was almost as if he were reveling in all the attention.

"Day off?" Bobby demanded. "Boy, we're all taking two days off at the end of the week. You need to get your ass back to work." Then understanding blossomed. "Oh. That's right."

"We are?" Dean asked, the almost familiar confused look back in force. "Why?"

"Thanksgiving," Sam reminded him gently.

A wide smile spread across Dean's face. "Oh, yeah. That's this week, huh? Awesome. What are we having?"

Sam checked his watch. "Actually, I'm due at the airport in an hour to pick up the lady who is cooking dinner for all of us."

The smile turned into a wicked smirk. Dean's eyebrows bobbed. "Is she hot, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head, Dean could be so predictable sometimes. "Actually, she's old enough to be your mother."

Dean cringed. "Ew. Thanks so much for the mental image, Sam." He shuddered, probably just for effect. "But she can cook?"

"I believe someone once described her stuffing as orgasmic," Sam replied.

A full blown grin erupted. "Now that's the kind of Thanksgiving I need this year!"

Bobby shoved Sam in the shoulder. "Get going, or you'll be late." He moved to stand in Dean's face. "You. Car. Now."

"Don't make me call Dad," Dean threatened, but Sam noticed the grin remained firmly in place.

"Still have the shotgun," Bobby replied evenly.

Sam hurried away to get Dean's beer before those two could really get into it.

* * *

Ella stepped off the plane, wondering for the thousandth time if she had totally lost her mind. Jerry had some type of amnesia, again, and she had flown in to meet with the man who once interrogated her about him. Why was she doing this? It wasn't like Jerry was her son. She had never intended to adopt a child that old. It all began as a way to get a little extra money from the state, but Jonathon wanted the kid to be his personal slave. Jerry did not. It had been all downhill from there. She blamed herself for not seeing where it would all lead.

The night Jonathon beat Jerry... She shuddered, though the air conditioning was not too cold. That night had been the longest night of her life. Ella had stayed by the boy's side until he woke. He did not remember her then either and she couldn't blame him, but he had allowed her to remain a part of his life. Jerry changed after the hospital, in some ways for the better but in other ways not. He did not trust her at all and refused to come to the house, but he still allowed her to cook for him and would always take her calls. If it weren't for Jerry, she would probably still be with Jonathon and nursing new bruises every Saturday and Sunday morning. She owed him, in more ways than one.

Now the tall man with the messy brown hair stood at the entrance to baggage claims, waiting for her. Ella swallowed hard as she approached him. This Sam character scared her, there was no denying it.

"Your luggage will be coming out there," Sam told her as he pointed to the luggage carousel.

Ella nodded and headed in the direction he indicated. She waited until her bright green bag with pink polka-dots came around. Ella pulled it off the carousel, turned to hand it off to Sam, assuming he would carry it for her. Sam had a strange look on his face.

"That's your bag?" he asked, disbelief written all over his features. "Seriously?"

Ella nodded.

"Really." He swallowed hard as he held out a hesitant hand for the bag. "Guess you don't ever have to worry about your luggage being stolen, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ella demanded.

Sam shrugged as he led her outside. "I just don't see a thief targeting such a, uh, identifiable bag." He glanced back at her with another shrug. "That's all."

Somehow she doubted that was 'all.' Ella climbed into the passenger seat of the ancient, weather-beaten mini-van. She waited until they were on the road before speaking again.

"Where did you get this, if your car is wrecked?" she asked.

"Dean's car," Sam replied instantly. "And this hunk of junk belongs to Bobby. That's where we're staying."

"How does Dean feel about you and Jerry wrecking his car?" Ella wanted more information and wondered if Sam would give it to her.

"Yeah. About that." Sam tossed her a hard look before returning his eyes to the road. "Jerry is Dean. My dad kind of changed his name."

She glared at the young man driving. He was not nearly as imposing as he had been in her apartment, but she remembered clearly what he had been like. "Changed his name? From Jerry to Dean? May I ask why?"

Sam did not answer for a while, the scenery of the small town flashing past them. "No," he finally said, "I don't think so. It's kind of personal." Then he glanced over at her. "But now he doesn't remember his name was ever Jerry, he thinks it's always been Dean."

Her eyes bugged out so far Ella feared they might not go back in. "He doesn't know his own name?"

"His name is Dean," Sam snapped, a flash of the imposing man who forced his way into her apartment. "I suggest you remember it."

Ella wrapped her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "I'll try," she whispered.

A loud sigh came from Sam. "Look, the only reason I even called you is because I'm worried. I know Dean thinks an awful lot of you, God knows why, and him forgetting you kind of freaked me out." He turned a searching look on her. "I hope he remembers your face."

Ella looked away from his eyes. The last time she saw those eyes they were hard and cold, filled with terrible purpose. Now they still held determination but were softer somehow, almost as if he pitied her and not Jerry. She chewed her lower lip, fighting back tears, the houses and trees moving outside the mini-van unnoticed. When they slowed, Ella took notice of where they were. Sam turned into the drive of an auto salvage yard. The entrance was flanked with stacks of rusting cars.

"Jerry is here?" she asked, her voice shattering the silence between them. "He hates these kinds of places."

Sam gave her a pleasant, though not warm, smile. It seemed well practiced. "He's been warming up to it."

She let herself out of the vehicle after it stopped beside a house. It did surprise her to find an older but very suburban-looking house in the middle of this junkyard.

"I won't do it that way, Bobby. I won't." Jerry's voice carried clearly to where she stood and Ella's heart hammered in her chest. She promised God and his angels, and anyone else who might be listening to her prayer, she would live a better life if Jerry would just remember her.

"Why are you being such a stubborn ass about this?" Bobby's voice echoed through the yard. "It'll work."

"It's half-assed!" Jerry shouted. Ella found she was drawn by his voice and a desire to see he was all right. "With all the work we're putting into this car, why the hell would I do something half-assed like that?"

Ella hurried forward, following the sounds of voices. She found Jerry leaning against the big car he had been driving last time she saw him. The doors were missing and it had no interior. The fenders were on, sanded, primed and possibly bondo-ed. It was not an unfamiliar sight, Ella had seen Jerry miraculously reassemble numerous cars.

"It's not half-assed," an older man with a gray scruffy beard argued, "lots of mechanics do it."

Jerry rolled his eyes, wiping his hands off on a stained rag. "Just because there are lots of half-assed mechanics doesn't mean it's the right way to do it."

The older man groaned dramatically, his head tilting up to the sky. He took a deep breath as he scratched at his head under a stained ballcap. "So what do you want to do? Paint the body off of the frame?"

"No." Jerry shook his head at the older man, and Ella was relieved he looked so good. "But we can cover up the engine and anything else we don't want overspray on."

"With what?" the older man demanded.

Jerry frowned as he stared down.

"Newspaper over the engine and foil on the frame," Ella suggested, moving closer. "Those will work."

"Yeah." Jerry's head snapped up. "That's what I was trying to remember. Thanks." He gave her his killer smile.

Ella tried to smile back, but she did not see any recognition in his eyes. "Excuse me," she mumbled as she turned away. She rushed to the house, unable to hold back her tears.

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Jerry's voice followed her. Ella ran faster, she didn't want him to see her cry. The last time he saw her cry was after he woke up from his three day coma and did not recognize her. Why was it Jerry's amnesia always made her cry? Or was it the fact he forgot her too? It shouldn't bother her so much, it wasn't like she adopted him. Of course, it wasn't like she had the chance to adopt him either. Jerry had himself declared an emancipated minor before she could really consider it.

"Lady!"

Lady? The tears flowed freely as Ella grasped the knob on the front door. She struggled with it as pounding footsteps came up behind her. Finally the door swung open. Ella rushed through, several voices calling out to her. Where could she go? Where could she hide? Stairs. Ella raced upstairs, her foot slipping twice nearly sending her tumbling down. Her hands scrabbled for purchase, catching on a higher stair. Stable now, she bolted upstairs on all fours. At the top, Ella made it to her feet. Other footsteps echoed in the stairwell. She spotted an open bedroom door. Ella darted inside, slamming the door closed behind her.

She dropped down on the closest bed. Jerry's distinctive smell permeated her senses, causing more tears to flood her cheeks. Ella sobbed into the pillow, clutching it to her face. After a while, she noticed someone was rubbing her back in strong, soothing strokes. Ella peeked out from the pillow to find Jerry sitting next to her on the bed.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "So sorry."

"It's okay," he said softly. "Feeling any better?"

She shook her head as she sat up. "Not really," she admitted. "But you are, aren't you? I mean, since the accident?"

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What did Sam tell you?"

Ella took a deep breath. "Well, he said your car was hit by a semi and you were having some memory problems again."

"Again?" Now his eyes widened. "You mean I've had trouble remembering stuff before?" A quick chuckle escaped him. "That's good. From the way Sam's been acting, I thought it was new." His head tilted to one side as he studied her. "What happened to cause it last time?"

Ella shook her head. "If you don't remember, I'd rather not be the one to remind you."

All softness drained from his face, leaving hard chiseled features. "That bad, huh? Well, that might explain why Sam's been in mother-hen overdrive. Was he around last time?"

Ella shook her head, not trusting her voice.

Jerry slapped a hand on his thigh. "And that would explain the rest of it." The real smile, the one that was so elusive since Jonathon beat him, appeared. "I'm glad you came. I hear your stuffing is awesome."

She swallowed back fresh tears. "You hear?" Her voice cracked. Damn it.

Jerry nodded. "And for some reason, I know I like you. And I hate it when you cry." A calloused thumb brushed the tears from her cheek. "Does that help? A little?"

Strangely, it did. Ella nodded, convinced her voice would betray her again even though the tears had stopped. His sweet, boyish smile reappeared. "Great. Now, am I going to have to ask Sam to tell me your name or are you up to it?"

She cleared her throat, hoping her voice would hold out this time. "Ella."

The smile broadened. "Ella. Nice name." He glanced around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Sam's had his panties in a real twist about you since we left the hospital. Any idea why?"

She shook her head. "I didn't think he liked me. At all."

His smile twisted into a deep frown. "Really. Sounds like Sam and I need to have a long talk." He sighed. "Great."

A grin forced its way on her face. "And I know how you love having those serious talks, about feelings and things."

Jerry snorted a laugh. "No wonder I like you." He rubbed a dirty palm over her cheek. "Sam says you're old enough to be my mother. That right?"

Ella cleared her throat. "More like, I'm old enough to be your foster mother, once upon a time."

He gave her a real grin. "Bet I was a pain in the ass."

Ella shook her head emphatically. "No, honey, no." Her hand ran up his arm to grasp his shoulder. "You were a great kid. Honest. No one could have been better."

Now he gave her a strange look. "Then why was I just a foster kid?"

Ella looked away, unable to continue looking in those trusting eyes. "Because you moved out," she finally told him. "You had to." When she dredged her eyes from the floor Jerry was watching her, confused. "It was for the best," she assured him.

"I moved out? Because I had to? Why? What happened?" he demanded, steel in his words.

Ella chewed her lower lip shaking her head. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

"Dean." It was that Sam character standing in the doorway. "Come on, back off. It wasn't her fault. Well, you never blamed her for it."

"For what, Sam?" Jerry asked this time, no demands. He seemed so comfortable here, so at ease. Even with his friends or at work Ella had never seen Jerry so relaxed with anyone.

Sam had a boyish smile of his own. "Let's worry about it later. Ella hasn't even seen the kitchen yet. I'm sure she's going to need all kinds of stuff from town for Thanksgiving dinner." His eyes shifted to her. "Anything you need, just name it. Dean and I are taking the rest of the week off from the car to help you, and Dad and Bobby are taking Thursday and Friday off. They have clean-up duty."

Ella wiped her cheeks down with her hands. "Okay," she said, a little breathless, "let's see how bad it is. Bobby doesn't strike me as much of a cook."

"His chili is awesome," Jerry said enthusiastically. "Sam, think we can talk him into another batch before she leaves, so she can try some?"

"I'm sure Bobby would make some if you want Ella to try it," Sam replied, and she heard the emphasis on her name. He was trying to help Jerry remember her. She needed to keep that in mind. Determined to prepare the best Thanksgiving dinner Jerry had ever had, _ever_, Ella marched downstairs.

"Sam! Sammy!" A large man burst into the house. He had mussed dark hair and a heavy salt-and-pepper beard. He waved a manila folder over his head with a broad grin over his face. "Sam, you are not going to believe this!"

"Dad?" Sam stopped in the den. "I thought you weren't going to be back until tonight?"

"You did get the replacement hood, right?" Jerry asked anxiously.

"Back of the truck," the man said with a jerk of his head toward the door. "Want to check it out?"

Sam grabbed Jerry's sleeve and exchanged a look before Jerry headed outside. He tossed Ella a wink as he closed the door.

The older man eyed her as he handed Sam the file. "Is this her?"

"Yep," Sam replied, flipping open the file.

"John Winchester," he said, sticking out a hand.

Ella shook it, her hand nearly engulfed by his. "Ella Trumbull," she replied as he pumped her hand a couple of times, his eyes on Sam.

Ella turned to watch Sam as well, curious about the file.

"What the hell?" Sam muttered. His eyes flicked up from the file. "Where did you get this, Dad? Is it for real?"

John Winchester beamed. "It's like a life-long wish come true, isn't it?" he asked.

"I'm going, right?" Sam demanded. "I mean, if it's really a clown, I need to be in on this job."

John slapped his son in the shoulder. "Better believe it."

Sam frowned as he stared at the front door. "What about Dean? I mean, we can't just leave him here."

"Why not?" John asked. "He and Bobby seem to be getting along better, and Ella is here now. Can you think of a better time?"

"Yes, I can," Sam stated defiantly. "Next week, after Ella goes home, the three of us check this out." He scanned the contents of the file again, his facial expression hardening. "A clown. I knew this had to happen someday." He stared at his father again. "You didn't say where you got it."

John shrugged. "Friend of mine, doesn't live too far from here."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You went to the Roadhouse? Dad, you know how those people are."

"Those people are a lot like us," John said defensively. "Besides, you know damn well that Ellen doesn't gossip, not about us."

Sam snorted. "Not where you'll catch her," he mumbled.

"What is that?" Ella asked softly, one hand snaking out for the file.

Sam snapped it closed. "Nothing for you to worry about. Come on, the kitchen is this way."

Disappointed and very curious, Ella followed Sam into the kitchen. It was small, but she had cooked larger meals in a smaller space, so it should work wonderfully. Ella set about cataloging what Bobby had and what they needed while Sam and John spoke in low tones in the far corner.

"Dad!" Jerry bellowed.

"Kitchen!" John hollered, motioning for Sam to put the file away. Sam made a face before placing the file in plain sight on the counter. John tried to reach for it, but Sam batted his reaching hand away.

"He's not going to remember it anyway," John hissed.

Ella opened her mouth to berate him for that comment, but Sam beat her to it with an icy glare which sent shivers down her spine and stole her voice. She could only imagine how she might react if the glare were directed at her.

"There you are," Jerry said as he entered the kitchen. He frowned at the two men. "What's going on?"

Sam tapped a finger on the file. Jerry crossed in front of John to flip it open. "A job?" he asked. "I thought you were out getting parts, not looking for a job."

John shrugged. "I did get the parts, and dropped in on an old friend. She asked me to look into it."

Jerry grinned. "She, huh? Is she hot? Does she have a daughter?"

"Off-limits," Sam and John replied together.

Jerry groaned, rolling his head and popping his neck. "When aren't the daughters off-limits?"

"Trust me, Dean," Sam said seriously, "this is one daughter you really don't want to mess with."

John chuckled. "Her mother scares Sam," he said in a mock whisper.

"She does not!" Sam retorted hotly.

John grinned and winked at Jerry. All Ella could see was how perfectly at ease Jerry was. He finally had the family he wanted, she realized. And she wasn't a part of it. Ella choked back a fresh sob, pretending to go through the meager contents of the fridge again. None of the men appeared to notice.


	22. Ch22:Send In The Clowns

Yes, an update! Hurrah! Hope you enjoy it. New chapter of L&D due up soon and maybe, just maybe, something totally new. (Still deciding on whether to post it.)

Thanks again to everyone following this and those of you deranged enough to encourage me.

**Ch22: Send In The Clowns**

Dean gripped the edge of his bed. Butterflies in his stomach; sweaty palms - he had the whole nervous ball of wax. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd faced down demons while showing fewer nervous symptoms. Why did this Ella chick, his supposed foster mother who never bothered adopting him, make him feel like this?

"Ready, Dean?" Sam appeared in their doorway rubbing a towel over his wet hair. "It's your favorite holiday."

"I know, Sam," he replied, "you don't have to remind me of everything."

"What? I wasn't..." Sam's voice trailed off. Dean looked up into the worried mother-hen look that had been following him around since they came to Bobby's. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean shook his head. He had been asking himself the very same question since early this morning and still didn't have a good answer. "Nothing," he told his little brother. "Want to tell me about the job now?"

"Tell you what?" Sam slung the wet towel across the room. It landed with a soft thump on the pile of dirty clothes in the corner. The pile would probably exceed Sam's tolerance limit by tomorrow. Sam tended to go by height where Dean preferred smell. As long as it didn't stink, it could touch the ceiling for all he cared. Of course, with the wet towel, the pile would undoubtedly exceed both their tolerance limits in the morning.

"You read the file," his little brother continued as he pulled on a t-shirt, "you know as much as I do."

Dean eyed his brother critically. "So you haven't been sneaking off to research?"

Sam's face blanked, which meant he was about to lie. "No."

"You're a lousy liar," Dean accused.

Sam shot him a nasty look. "No, I'm not. You're just too good at seeing through the BS."

"C'mon, Sammy. Give. What is it?" He rubbed his sweaty palms against his legs, feeling a little better now.

"Dean, there's plenty of time to talk about this tomorrow. Ella, Dad and Bobby are probably all waiting for us to celebrate **your** favorite holiday. Why do you want to sit up here and talk about a case when all of your favorite foods are downstairs?" Sam smoothed out his shirt with both hands and shot Dean a strong look.

"Dunno," Dean replied, finally trying to answer Sam's question. "I, uh, just..." He shrugged. There was no good reason for all these emotions welling up within him, the butterflies in his stomach, and the absolute frozen dread that nothing would go right today. In his mind's eye he saw them sitting around Bobby's table, the one usually covered with research, laughing and talking with full mouths. Reality could never measure up. It never had.

"Then let's go." Sam waved a hand toward the door. A half-smile creased his brother's face. "Before Dad and Bobby start eying Ella's pie."

"Pie?" Dean instantly felt highly interested. "Ella made pie?"

Sam's half-smile spread into a full grin. "Pecan, apple and I think she said peach."

Dean found himself standing mere inches from Sam. "What are we waiting for?" he demanded, giving Sam a push in the chest. "There's pie!"

He hurried from the room, taking the stairs two at time with Sam on his heels. "Hey, there better still be some food in there," he bellowed, "or there's gonna be hell to pay."

Dean rounded the corner to find Dad and Bobby standing by the table covered with food. He snatched Bobby's hat as he passed by.

"Hey, is this new? Sam, check it out," he slung it over Bobby's head at his brother, "Bobby got dressed up."

"It is new," Sam said, chuckling.

Dean glanced over as Bobby grabbed the hat out of Sam's hands to ram back on his head. "Shut up."

Dean spun a chair around to straddle. He leaned over the back to reach for the bowl of mashed potatoes. The sound of Dad's throat clearing made him freeze. His eyes flicked over to Dad and the disapproving look. He glanced down at his chair. Oh. Right. Feeling rather sheepish, Dean stood to turn his chair around.

"Oh, honey, don't worry about that," Ella said lightly as she moved the gravy bowl closer. She smiled at Dad. "I never could get him to sit in a chair the right way."

Dean finished turning the chair around before he sat again. "Now?" he asked Dad.

Dad nodded as he placed a thick slice of turkey on Dean's plate. "Fill 'er up, son."

Bobby sat at the head of the table while Sam and Dad took seats opposite him. Dean wondered why until Ella sat in the only empty chair, next to him. He knew Sam didn't like her much and guessed the same went for Dad and Bobby. Even now Dean could feel the tension around the table.

"Looks good," he said conversationally as he motioned for Sam to pass the stuffing.

"Yeah," Sam replied with a small smile. "Ella really went all out for us, didn't she, Dad?"

"Huh?" Dad had half a roll stuffed in his mouth. He chewed through it hurriedly before swallowing it nearly whole. "Yeah, Ella, it all looks great." Dad winced and shot a glare at Sam. "Thanks."

Dean wasn't sure if the thanks were meant for Ella's cooking or the kick in the shin from Sam.

* * *

John rubbed at his throbbing shin. Honestly, Sam could be just too freaking pushy. He wished he had someone else he could blame that on, like say it was from his wife's side of the family. John knew better. Sam was a chip off the old block, unfortunately.

"So, Ella," he said, attempting to take himself out of the spotlight, "what do you do?" He noticed Dean take an interest as well.

"I'm a medical office assistant," she said in a soft voice.

"That sounds..." Dean had a funny look on his face. "That sounds like a pain in the ass job."

She smiled at the young man sitting beside her. "It is, but it pays the bills."

Dean chuckled as he shoved more turkey in his mouth. John was not sure why, but he did not like how comfortable Dean seemed to be with Ella. When they had been on the road, the only time Dean really relaxed was when it was just the two of them back at the motel. Since arriving at Bobby's Dean seemed just as relaxed all of the time, even when he caught Dean and Bobby arguing over some subtle point in the restoration of the Impala or Dean and Sam exchanging verbal barbs. Dean being comfortable with Sam and Bobby John didn't mind too much, but Dean acting like this with Ella, well, it didn't feel right.

"Wow," Sam mumbled next to him. "Dean was right, the stuffing is amazing." He felt an elbow in his side. "Dad? What do you think?"

Without touching the yellow-brown lump on his plate, John shrugged. "It's okay."

"Okay?" Dean demanded with a full mouth. "Did you try it? It's awesome." He waved a full fork at John. "C'mon, Dad, eat."

John tried, but his appetite was gone.

"Ella," Sam said, "tell me, has Dean always been into practical jokes?"

Dean snorted from across the table, a light in his amused eyes. "Looking for tips, Sammy?"

Sam grinned as Ella's mouth, presumably open to answer, closed.

"You wish," Sam snorted. "How's the hand?"

Dean grumbled something John didn't catch, but it did not sound amused. Then he watched as Dean nudged Ella, nodding toward Sam.

She cleared her throat. "I suppose he has. Jerry has always had a wonderful sense of humor."

"Who's Jerry?" Dean asked, adding more stuffing to his plate.

John fixed a disapproving stare on Ella. How dare she mention that name. Did she want Dean to remember all the crap he had been through? On reflection he realized she probably did, because it would mean remembering her as well. Tough.

Her face flared bright red as her gaze dropped to her plate. "Sorry," she mumbled.

John turned to make a comment to Sam, but his son was busy glaring daggers in Ella's direction.

"How about cars?" Bobby asked, breaking the tense silence. "Where did Dean learn so much?"

Ella fiddled under the table, probably wringing her napkin in her hands. "He worked at a garage," she said softly.

"What garage?" Dean asked, one eye on her and another on his food. He never seemed to slow down in eating.

Ella's eyes remained fixed on her lap. "Arnold's Garage," she replied. "I suspect you were always into cars, though. The only books I ever saw you reading were about cars."

"Ah-hah!" Sam shouted triumphantly, one finger stabbing the air in Dean's direction. "You read about cars!"

Dean looked up calmly at Sam, the familiar teasing smile on his face. "About the history of the car, Sammy. Not how to fix them. Tell me, you find out what that 7-10 cap is for?"

Sam's hand dropped. "I suppose you're going to tell me that experience is the best teacher for things like that?"

Dean shrugged, still appearing highly amused. He shoveled another forkful of turkey in his mouth. After he chewed through it, his eyes shifted to John.

"And you," he said, "seriously, you didn't teach him anything about cars?"

John shrugged, pretending to be interested in his meal again. "We were busy."

Muffled laughter drew his attention from his plate. Dean and Sam were sharing choked chuckles and exchanging secret looks.

"We were," John defended over the chuckling.

Dean nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, sir," he replied. "I'm sure you were." He glanced back to Sam and they shared another chuckle.

"What is so funny?" John demanded of his sons.

Sam gave Dean a questioning look. Dean grinned and nodded, attacking his plate of food again.

"Dean has this theory, about how you probably tried to teach me about cars." Sam cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Son, a car in need of a tune-up is like a vengeful spirit." John decided he couldn't possibly sound the way Sam did right now. "First you have to vanquish the bad oil, a drain and toss is best." Dean's chuckling grew louder. "Next for the spark plugs. After fifty thousand miles, evil spirits can cause corrosion on the connections, so you need to check for that." Dean snorted. "And unlike zombies, your car needs to breathe."

Dean laughed through a mouthful of food over that one.

"So replace the, uh, air filters?" Sam asked, eyes on Dean now.

Dean waved him off, shaking his head, probably trying not to choke. He motioned to John.

"Yeah, pretty much," John admitted. Then he allowed himself a chuckle. "He's not far off, is he?"

Sam laughed then, tearing a roll in half. "Not really."

"So are we checking out this clown thing this weekend?" Dean asked. "Because I got to tell you, I'm starting to go a little stir-crazy cooped up in one place."

"The car isn't done yet," Sam replied in a surprised voice.

"So?" Dean shrugged. "Bobby already said we could use his clunker." He made a face. "Bobby, what the hell are you doing with a mini-van anyway? Some soccer Mom have a nervous break-down?"

"Something like that," Bobby replied.

"Excuse me, but I do have a truck," John pointed out.

Three sets of eyes focused on him. There was a stretched silence before Bobby spoke. "So you're still going to be here."

It was more of a statement than a question. John had been considering leaving, though he wouldn't admit it, but there had not been any really good indication of the demon's activity. Besides, Dean hadn't fully recovered. It would be irresponsible for him to allow the boys to go unaided on a hunt with Dean still recuperating. Yeah, like he hadn't ever been irresponsible before.

"Yes," he snapped at Bobby, "I'm still going to be here."

Dean's relieved smile shouldn't have caused the guilt crashing over him now, or the sense of relief for being wanted more than Ella, but it did.

"They're all bark," Dean was telling Ella. "Don't let it get to you."

He noticed Ella stare at Sam as she replied, "Not all bark."

John was impressed. Ella wasn't nearly as stupid as she acted.

* * *

Bobby watched the Winchesters, even the so-called adopted one, prepare for some clown hunting. Sam's research pointed in the direction of a rakshasa, which were damned rare and difficult to track. Now they were discussing how to find a copper weapon to use to kill it.

He dropped his bag next to Sam's and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Bobby?" John glanced down at his bag before daring to look at him dead-on. "What's up?"

"I'm going," Bobby announced. Short and simple, it was the only way when dealing with Winchesters.

"Why?" Sam asked, checking over a Desert Eagle. Dean snatched it out of Sam's hands with a glare.

"Why not?" Dean asked, much to Bobby's surprise. Had the kid forgiven him for the shotgun incident? "Wait a minute." A frown creased his face. "What about, uh, Ella?"

"She's going to wait here. Said something about my kitchen not being clean enough," Bobby replied.

Dean's frown eased. "I'm not positive, but I think she's got something about clean kitchens."

"I'm positive," Sam muttered as he pulled out another handgun. This one he stuffed into his waistband after checking it over.

"Oh," Sam said in a voice filled with 'I got something' and 'better listen up.' He set an oil cap on the table in front of Dean. One lean finger pointed out the upside down letters. "7-10," he said patiently, then he spun it around. "O-I-L." Deep hazel eyes glared at Dean. "Now do I get a say in anything Impala?"

Dean grinned, clearly amused. "Maybe about the upholstery."

Sam's eyes rolled completely back in his head.

"I can't believe you've had him looking for the 7-10 cap all this time," John said with an amused snort.

"You didn't say anything either," Bobby pointed out.

John gave them all a small smile. "After all the know-it-all crap I've had to put up with all these years? Are you kidding? What's your excuse, Bobby?"

Bobby decided it would be best not to answer that question, especially since he wanted to go along on this hunt. It wasn't the hunt itself which intrigued him, it was the opportunity to watch these three on a hunt. He wanted to see the Winchester family in action for himself. Since chasing John off with a shotgun one evening, Bobby had heard the rumors circulating about the 'other' Winchester son. He figured most of it was the usual blown-out-of-proportion hunter's talk, but he would rather judge it in person.

John's game face slammed into place as he slung a duffel over his shoulder. "Are we ready or what?"

"Yes, sir," Dean replied instantly, mirroring John's movements with a lighter duffel. Bobby had watched Sam check through Dean's bag earlier, removing anything he thought too heavy. Dean hefted it up and down with his shoulder a couple of times before giving Sam a searching look. Sam pretended to be busy with a rock salt shotgun, which wouldn't do a damn thing against this, this, uh...

"So how are we supposed to find the people-eater? Is it purple?" Dean asked, the only indication of a joke the thin smile playing on his lips.

"We could try joining up at the circus," Sam suggested seriously. "Dean and I should be the right age."

"And your dad and I play back-up?" Bobby demanded. He shifted his gaze to John. "They think we're too old for this."

"You think we need to join the circus?" John chuckled. "C'mon, Bobby. There's plenty for us to do. I know how much trouble each of them can get into alone, so I can only imagine what the two of them together are like on a job."

Dean tossed an unabashed wink at Sam. "This is going to be fun."

Sam shuddered. Bobby couldn't imagine what set Sam off this time.

* * *

"Seriously?" Dean asked Bobby as he swept up a couple of crushed paper cups and what was leftover from someone's lunch. "Sam was afraid of clowns as a kid? So why is he so gung-ho about this hunt?"

Sam could be seriously weird, something Dean knew yet it surprised him every time he was given evidence of it.

Bobby shrugged, pretending to study some of the attractions nearby. "Well, when he was about nine or ten, he decided the reason they scared him was because they were all evil. From that point on, Sam has just been dying to hunt down an evil supernatural clown. John never let him before now, of course."

"That he knows of," Dean pointed out. "Sam was away at college for nearly four years."

Bobby's head shook slowly back and forth. "Sam wouldn't do that. He might go against his daddy by going to college, but he wouldn't go that far."

"Look! A clown!"

Dean spun around to pinpoint the child's voice. A little girl stood with her parents, pointing at a tent.

"Where, honey?" The mother crouched down to talk to her.

"It was right there," she insisted, still pointing. "Didn't you see it? He waved at me."

"Bobby," Dean whispered.

"On it." Bobby hurried toward the family. Dean headed for the tent. If the kid did see something, it couldn't have gone far.

Dean tossed his broom and garbage-sweeper-up-thingy against the side of the tent as he rushed in. He plowed into some dude who had an act. Crap! Dean stumbled backwards feeling stupid for running into the poor guy.

"Uh, sorry. You see anybody come by here in the last two seconds?" he asked, looking around fervently for anyone dressed like a clown.

"See?" the dude demanded. "Did I see anyone?"

Confused, Dean really looked at the guy now. Oh, double-crap! It was the blind knife thrower. Of course the poor guy didn't see anything. Shit, now he looked like an asshole.

"Uh, I meant..." Dean faltered for an excuse. Where the hell was Sam when you really needed him? "Did anyone come through here in the last few seconds? That, uh, that you know of?"

The blind dude poked him in the chest. "Just the clod who ran over me, that's all."

Dean winced. Yeah, okay, he probably deserved that.

The blind dude leaned in close and sniffed him. Freaking sniffed him?

"The stupid clod who cleans up the garbage," he said with another sniff.

Stupid. He might not remember a few things, but that didn't make him stupid. "Excuse me?" Dean asked slowly.

"Get out," blind dude told him, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "I'm sure there's some day old hotdog or half-eaten corndog waiting for you."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the asshole. He wondered if it was true, about the other senses amping up when one was gone. The jerk might even be able to 'feel' the right hook destined for his jaw.

"Dean!" Sam's voice boomed in the tent. How the hell did he do that? Dean hadn't even lifted his fist yet. "There you are," he huffed as he jogged up. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Shirking your work too?" the blind guy asked with a sneer.

Sam shoved his body between them as Dean raised his fist, eyes locked on target. "Nope," he said hurriedly, "just heading off to a dumped trash can emergency."

Dean growled under his breath as Sam shoved him out of the tent.

"What the hell are you thinking?" Sam demanded in an urgent whisper. "You were really going to hit that blind guy?"

"The blind guy is an asshole," Dean ground out, also pitching his tone soft. It seemed like there was always somebody trying to listen in on them.

"Forget him," Sam insisted. "We need to keep an eye out for The Clown." From the way Sam said it, Dean could hear the words were capitalized.

"What the hell do you think I was doing?" Dean snapped back. "I was following up a lead when tall, dark, and in the dark got in the way."

Sam choked back a half-chuckle, but not quite quickly enough. "What happened?"

"Some kid outside claimed a clown waved at her, but none of the adults saw anything. Bobby went to follow them, maybe get a license plate, and I tried looking for The Clown." The emphasis sounded sarcastic from him, which was freaking perfect.

"Okay, you better go back to your station before we get in trouble. I'm sure Bobby will check in when he has something." Sam waved him off, heading around the tent.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean grumbled under his breath. "Clowns, ghosts, spirits. Freaking weird family."

"Spirits?" A voice sounded from right behind him. Dean spun around to face a large man, obviously with the traveling circus. "Why are you worried about spirits? This circus isn't haunted, not like the one I used to be with when I was just a kid."

Dean gave the guy his most innocent smile. "Really? What makes you say that?" Okay, so the blind dude let the clown get away, but it might not be a total loss. This guy might have some decent info.


	23. Ch23: No Clowning Around

See, I told you it was coming! Thanks again to my awesome editor and to all of you kind enough to review.

**Chapter 23: No Clowning Around**

Dean expertly picked the lock on the front door. "So why are we doing this, and not the experienced old guys?" he hissed as he opened the door.

Sam gave him a soft shove in the shoulder. "Because they're too old and slow," he whispered back. "Nice job on the lock, by the way."

Dean thought Sam ought to be complimenting Dad, not him. He'd learned all his 'gray-area' skills from Dad, except how to hot-wire a car. That was something he'd had to teach Sam. For a former mechanic, Dad really did a piss-poor job of teaching Sammy automotive anything.

"Where do you think the parents sleep? Upstairs?" Sam whispered, eyes darting around the dark downstairs.

Dean shrugged. He had no intention of going upstairs, not without an engraved invitation or at least some screaming. Sam jerked his head at the stairs. Dean shook his head in response. The clown had to come inside somehow; they should look for it down here.

"I'm coming," a young voice said. Dean ducked behind a chair while Sam dove for the couch. The same little girl he had spotted at the circus sprinted downstairs. What did Sam say about the thing they were hunting? It couldn't do something without an invitation. Damn his stupid brain! Why couldn't he remember the simplest things?

The girl stood by the glass door which opened to the backyard. "What?" she asked through the glass. "You want to come in to play?"

It couldn't come inside without an invitation. That was it. Dean gripped his shotgun tightly, ready to spring from his hiding place. The girl reached out for the door. Now he could see a clown standing right outside. As her hand grasped the handle, Dean jumped up.

"Now!" he shouted. Sam raced, doubled over, from behind the couch to grab the girl. The instant she was clear, Dean shot at the clown. The glass in the door exploded, just like in the movies. Cool.

Dean stepped closer, but there was no clown outside the busted door, not even a scrap of its stupid outfit.

"What the hell is going on?" a man's voice shouted.

Dean half turned to see the father barreling down the stairs brandishing a handgun. Yeah, that didn't look good, especially with Sam still holding their daughter in a protective bear-hug.

"Daddy! They shot my clown!" she screamed. "They shot my clown!"

Daddy lifted the handgun, taking aim. Cue exit, stage left.

"Sam!" Dean hissed as he raced toward the front door, one hand pulling his little brother along. They could hear the angry sobs of the girl as they ran flat out for the road. The sounds of gunshots had Dean checking over his shoulder, but Sam was right there with him. The passenger door of the truck was open and the engine running when they ran up. Dean jumped in, Sam right behind him. The truck took off with a shudder before Sam could close the door.

"What the hell happened?" Dad demanded.

"Salt doesn't work," Dean replied, panting. A month without being allowed to work out had really taken a toll, he couldn't catch his breath.

Dad shot him a strong look. "No kidding. We need brass. What made you use the shotgun anyway?"

"It's not like we had any brass weapons on us, Dad," Sam argued. "Did you want us to let it eat the parents?" An elbow dug into his side. "I thought the shotgun worked pretty well. Nobody died."

"Where are we going to find brass weapons anyway?" Bobby asked from the back. "I know where we can order some, but that'll take a couple of weeks."

"I have an idea about that," Dean said slowly as his breathing approached normal. "But we need to go back to the circus."

Dad nodded, turning towards the object at the center of their hunt.

* * *

"You want Sam or Dean?" John asked Bobby softly as they followed the young men walking towards the after-hours circus grounds.

"What?" Bobby hissed back. "I get a choice?"

"Yeah," John whispered. "So do you prefer trouble-magnet number one or two?"

"Uh, is that in order of troublesomeness, age, or order added to the family?" Bobby asked. He wondered why John was even asking; the man usually just barked orders and expected everyone to follow them. "Because in each case, I'd have to say you're number one." He grinned in the dark at his old pain-in-the-ass friend. "In every way."

John snorted at him. "Fine." He received a shove in the shoulder to follow Dean. "Trouble-magnet number two it is."

Bobby figured he was being punished for verbally flipping John off, but he didn't mind, not really. With their abrupt departures, Bobby still hadn't seen Dean in action. If half of John's or Sam's stories were to be believed, the boy was a wonder to watch in action. Besides, the kid needed someone who remembered he was still recovering to watch his back, and Bobby suspected at a crucial moment those high Winchester expectations would overrule common sense.

He spotted Dean talking to a thin, gaunt blind man before heading into one of the trailers these carnies lived in. Bobby waited nearby, close enough to hear if there was a problem, but far enough away to not look like he was trying to eavesdrop or break in. Carnies could be violently loyal to one another, and he had spotted the strong man earlier. No way was he tangling with that.

The first hint of trouble came in the form of a loud thump from the trailer. Bobby inched closer, still trying to appear inconspicuous. The blind man, minus the dark glasses, raced out of the trailer. No Dean. Yeah, this looked bad.

Bobby yanked open the door. "Boy?" he asked of the trailer, one bare bulb lighting the place. "You in here?"

Of course Dean was still in here, where could he go? A moan from the front compartment, which passed for the 'master' bedroom, drew Bobby in. A dark form filled the floor next to an open cedar chest, what women used to call a 'hope' chest.

"Dean!" Bobby found himself on his knees, pulling the boy up to a sitting position. Poor kid blinked hard at him.

"Bobby?" he asked after an endless moment of silence.

Bobby let out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, it's me. What's wrong, you seeing double or something?"

Dean shook his head as he allowed Bobby to haul him to his feet. "Just good to know some things in here," he tapped his temple, "still work." He glanced around, puzzled. "Where'd he go?"

"Who? The blind guy?" Bobby asked. "He left, couple minutes ago."

"Crap!" Dean tried to shove past him, losing his balance momentarily. Bobby steadied the younger man as they made for the door. "He's not blind, Bobby," he explained in a rush, "he's the not-purple people eater." Dean gave Bobby a weird look as they stepped outside. "Unpurple people eater?"

"Rakshasa," Bobby reminded him, though even as the word left his mouth he wondered why he was bothering to do it. Kid had enough trouble with his memory without ancient names.

"Whatever." Dean pulled out his cell. "Gotta warn Sam."

"He went this way," Bobby said, taking off in the direction he saw the not-blind man go. He kept glancing over his shoulder, checking on the kid, as they headed across the grounds. Dean motioned to the fun house, the phone still pressed to his ear.

"Yeah, we're there. Okay, see you inside." Dean motioned to a door set in the back. "Dad and Sam are going in the front. Sam says he thinks he has an idea about how to kill it."

"What about the brass blade you were after?" Bobby asked as Dean jerked open the door, which was oddly unlocked.

Dean sent him an incredulous look. "It's been one of those days."

After a moment's thought, Bobby shook his head in disbelief at his own stupidity. Why would a rakshasa keep around the very thing which would kill it? He couldn't see that for himself? He appreciated Dean not going with 'duh, Bobby!' Kid certainly could've. He had intended to prop the door open after they went in, but the knob slipped out of his hand. Bobby reached out for it as it slammed forcefully closed. Not good. He tried the door but it was locked fast this time. Yeah, coming in had been way too easy.

Bobby turned around to inform Dean, but the kid was gone. "Damn it," he growled, feeling his way among the mirrored walls. He felt he needed to call out for Dean, like a parent who just lost a rambunctious child. Screw that. Instead Bobby raced through the hall of mirrors as fast as he could. Sounds came from ahead and to his right. Heading in the direction of shouting voices, Bobby turned a corner to discover Sam brandishing a pipe. It looked like brass, maybe from the pipe organ against the far wall. Sam was one sharp kid, Bobby had to admit.

"Where is it?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know!" Dean spun around. "Shouldn't we see his clothes walking around or something?"

Bobby heard rather than saw the knives whizzing through the air. Dean was stuck, the knives pinning his right sleeve to the wall. "Sam!"

Sam swung his pipe through the empty air, in the area the knives came from. John jumped out of Sam's way, a second barrage of knives effectively pinning him next to Dean.

"Damn it!" John rumbled, worried eyes on Sam.

Dean frantically yanked a knife out, desperately trying to break free. Bobby tried to judge where the knives were coming from as he moved silently around the corner. Just as Dean pulled the next to last knife out, a fresh barrage pinned his left arm. Bobby rushed from his hiding place, hoping to hit their invisible attacker. Instead he struck the far wall.

"Sam!" Dean's shout rang out again. "Behind you!"

Bobby twisted around in time to see Dean's free hand was on a handle set in the wall. Steam poured out of vents into the room. Bobby could just make out a figure moving through the steam. With a primal cry, Sam thrust the pipe backwards. Out of the steam the figure of the blind man solidified, pinned to the wall with the pipe.

"Bobby!" John called out. "You all right?"

He pushed up to a stand. "Yeah, I think so. Just bruised my pride a little."

"Good. Get your ass over here!" John snapped as he struggled to reach the knives keeping him attached to the wall.

Sam beat Bobby to the far wall, but he concentrated on freeing Dean, not his father. Amused, Bobby had John loose about the same time Dean was able to move away from the wall. The next two minutes did surprise him. John and Sam both fussed over Dean, examining his clothes for any signs of blood, until Dean pushed them both off with a scowl.

"I'm not a freaking invalid!" Dean snapped, turning his back on all of them. His head rocked from side to side, creating small popping noises as his stretched his neck.

Sam gave John a relieved look. "He's fine."

"Maybe," John growled, "but I'm checking him over the second we get back."

Bobby wondered if he could sell tickets to this one. It sounded like the equivalent of a championship match.

* * *

Ella paced nervously. The phone call she had received to warn her the men were on their way back had been, well, odd. She heard that Sam, who pretended to be nice around his 'family', going on and on in the background. John and Bobby were arguing about whether or not to drive through. The louder the other men became, the louder Dean had to shout to make himself heard over the phone. Finally Dean just shouted she should expect them in four hours and then the line went dead. That had been over three hours ago.

Each time she heard a car engine, Ella jumped. She was at the point if a truck didn't turn down the drive, she feared losing her sanity. At least Dean had sounded fine.

Dean.

When did she start thinking of him as Dean? Probably about the same time Ella had admitted to herself that John acted like an overprotective father and Sam was the most dedicated brother she ever had the misfortune of meeting. While Dean finally found the family he so clearly wanted, Ella had her doubts if this 'family' of his was the best thing for him. Okay, so he was recovering from a car wreck, not a beating, which was an improvement over the time he spent with her. But the way these men acted reminded her of caged tigers awaiting the first time an unsuspecting zookeeper opened the door. Sam especially bothered her.

On the surface he seemed so much the sweet, innocent young man, as if he were merely between liberal arts lectures. She could imagine Sam majoring in Sweet with a minor in Innocuous. He certainly graduated with honors, in her humble opinion. However, in reality? He was one truly scary son-of-a-bitch. How in the world her sweet Jerry had hooked up with Sam, well, it was beyond her. And the whole thing with changing his name? Now that was the sign of a disturbed mind, at the very least. All of them appeared to tip-toe around the subject of Dean's name, except Dean. He had no idea his real name was Jerry, and wasn't that just disturbing on a whole new level?

Ella had spent the last few days cleaning Bobby's kitchen, his main rooms, and calling around to find a decent psychiatrist. The hard part would be convincing Dean to go. The impossible part would be going around his new family to the appointment she had scheduled for next week. Yeah, okay, maybe it was wishful thinking on her part, but she couldn't just stand by and do absolutely nothing. Not again. Not after what happened the last time she had depended on someone else to do the right thing.

The sound of a truck interrupted her thoughts and pacing. Ella waited, neck muscles tense and knotting, as the noise rolled through the darkness outside. Her eyes strained through the now clean windows for a flash of headlights. Two bright beams rounded Bobby's drive, headed for the house. Ella held her breath until Bobby's exterior flood lights flipped on, bathing the area surrounding the house in bright white light. Now she could tell it was a black truck, John's truck. Ella let out the breath burning in her chest.

The truck stopped just outside the house. John and Sam got out first, followed closely by Bobby and finally Dean. Dean moved slowly, with both John and Sam hovering around him.

"Come on, back off!" Dean snapped at the other men. Ella rushed to open the door for them.

"I'm fine," Dean insisted as he walked inside. He paused briefly to give Ella a peck on the cheek, exactly the way he used to when she would come to visit. Hope flared bright in her chest.

"You always say that," John and Sam replied in forceful unison.

"Shirt off," John ordered, blocking Dean's path to the stairs.

Dean shot him a withering look with his arms crossed over his chest. "No."

"That's an order," John said in a loud voice. Sam made a face, but he said nothing. Dean froze, stock still.

"An order?" he asked weakly, his face open and pleading. Dean took orders? How very un-Jerry-like. "C'mon, Dad. I swear, I'm fine."

"Off," John motioned, his voice ranging into aggravated or annoyed, Ella couldn't tell for certain.

Dean groaned loudly and rolled his eyes all around, but no one spoke to defend him.

"He says he's fine," Ella said, hoping her voice did not quaver.

Dean graced her with his sweetest smile. "It's okay. You might want to leave for this, though."

Ella shook her head. If he was hurt, she wanted to see it for herself. Sam moved to stand between her and Dean. "He's telling you the truth," he said softly. "I don't think you're ready for this."

Ella glared at him as she forced her way by him. She waited impatiently as Dean removed his leather jacket and outer shirt. He took a deep breath before lifting up his t-shirt. Ella winced when she saw his torso covered with purple and green bruises. The areas not bruised were yellow, recovering from bruising. Her stomach twisted and lurched and Ella could taste bile in the back of her throat.

"Turn around," John ordered, "and lift your arms up."

Dean rolled his eyes again as he lifted his arms. He turned slowly around, putting all of his tortured torso on display. "Well?" he demanded.

"Arms," Sam insisted. Dean lowered his arms, holding them out for inspection. "He looks fine," Sam said, still studying his arms.

"Fine?" Ella demanded. "He looks beat to hell!"

Sam's eyes locked on hers as he moved away from Dean. "You would know," Sam said in a low voice which was undoubtedly meant for her ears alone. She tried to glare, but figured she felt too guilty for it to do any good. Ella knew she was right when, after Dean walked off a ways to grab his discarded shirts, Sam leaned in closer and growled a little.

"Knock it off, Sam," Dean said without turning around as he pulled his button down shirt back on without the t-shirt.

Sam gave Dean's back a guilty look. "I wasn't doing anything," he said innocently.

"Yeah, right," Dean chuckled. He turned around slowly. "Leave her alone, Sam. We talked about this."

Sam took a step back, a deep furrow in his brow. "No, we didn't."

Dean frowned, his brow furrowing deeply as he buttoned his shirt. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure we did."

Sam's eyes widened and John moved closer. "Are you remembering things, son? From, um, before?" John asked gently.

Dean ran a hand over his head. "I'm tired," he announced. "Can we talk about this in the morning?"

"Sure," John said with a sigh. He gripped Dean's shoulder briefly. "And don't think we won't."

Dean let out a low groan as he headed for the stairs, but Ella had to admit he didn't seem upset at all.


	24. Ch24:Mother of a Day

Thanks again to all you wonderful folks following this story. Really appreciate all of you, and my awesome editor! Thanks _**charis-kalos**_!!

**Chapter 24 – Mother of a Day**

Dean still bristled from the way Ella had harped on him to eat before going to bed, but he knew she meant well. He hated to admit it, but he did feel better with a full stomach.

"Better take these tonight," Sam said, dumping the large white oval pain pills in his hand. "And don't roll your eyes about it. Just humor me."

Dean nodded in resignation, taking the pills before dropping carefully to his bed. Though he would never own up to it, his whole body ached. Too much time in the truck coupled with all the physical activity over the past couple of days had really done a number on him. He wondered if he could find an excuse not to work on the car in the morning so he could just lie around and rest. Then again, knowing Sam, he might not need an excuse. There was a pretty high chance Sam wasn't planning on letting him out of the house tomorrow.

Relieved by the thought, Dean settled into the almost comfortable bed and allowed his eyes to close. Way too soon he heard voices arguing in the hall outside his room.

"No, you're going to let him sleep in." Sam's voice; Dean would recognize it anywhere.

"I brought him breakfast," a woman's voice argued. Breakfast in bed? From a woman? And Sam was arguing? Had little bro' lost his frigging mind? Then it hit him, the one woman Sam really didn't like was Ella.

"He needs to keep up his strength," her sharp voice continued. For some strange reason that argument sounded really familiar and it left a tight knot in his stomach.

"When he wakes up, I'll bring him downstairs," Sam said in his soft-but-dangerous voice, the one Dean had only heard a couple of times. "Until then, get your ass out of here."

Dean almost chuckled at the expression he imagined on Ella's face as he heard her light footsteps walk away. Sam's sneakers were harder to track by sound and Dean was not certain where he went before the door to their room opened. He cracked an eye open to see what his brother was up to.

"Damn," Sam breathed, looking at him. "I didn't want to wake you."

Dean stretched but did not sit up. "It's okay, Sammy. So are you ever going to tell me what's between you and Ella?"

A startled expression crossed Sam's face. "What do you mean? Between us?"

Dean reached back to double up his pillow, making it easier to watch Sam while still lying down. "Why you hate her guts."

Sam made a bitter face as he turned away. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

"Sure doesn't look like nothing," Dean argued. "Look, Sam, I'd really like you two to get along. But if you can't, I dunno, I guess we'll have to stick to Denny's or Bobby's chili for the next holiday dinner."

Sam spun back around, even more surprised now than he had been a few seconds ago. "Just like that?" he demanded. "You'd pick me over her, just like that?"

"Duh, Einstein," Dean replied with a snort. "What'd you expect?"

"Well," Sam said slowly as he sat facing Dean from the other bed, "I expected you to at least think it over. Weigh your choices, maybe suggest a compromise."

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's your territory, Sam. Not mine. If you hate her, I'll send her back home. I know the only reason you invited her was because you're freaked over my memory thing."

"Amnesia," Sam corrected instantly.

"I know what it's called," he said with a grin.

Sam grabbed the pillow off his bed, threw it at Dean's head. "Big jerk."

Dean chuckled as he stuffed the second pillow behind his head. "Whiny bitch," he teased. "And thanks for the pillow." He fluffed it. "Gonna enjoy it."

"Want me to go get your breakfast?" Sam asked, voice bordering on demanding.

"In a minute," Dean replied (like he was going to turn down breakfast in bed!). "So? What's the verdict? Does Ella go or stay?"

Sam let out a groan as he ran a hand through the mop he called hair. "I don't know. Honestly, Dean, I really don't. I mean, I definitely don't like her, but sometimes I get the feeling it's good for you to have her around." He shrugged. "I want to do the right thing by you."

"Thanks. But Sam?" Dean waited for Sam to really look at him. "I don't think you can do the wrong thing. For me, I mean."

Sam stared intensely at him for what felt like minutes. "I know I can," he finally replied in the soft-yet-dangerous voice, "and I'm making sure I don't."

The room felt small and uncomfortable. "So," Dean said, wanting desperately to lighten the mood, "do I get my breakfast today or tomorrow?"

A weak smile replaced the intense expression on Sam's face. "Yeah, I'll go get it. You're staying in today, by the way. Bobby wants to take you to the doctor this afternoon, but you don't have to go."

"Bobby?" Dean asked, shocked. "Bobby wants me to see a doctor? What for?"

Sam glanced at the door before his eyes settled on Dean again. "I think he's worried about you, that the hunt was too much too soon." Sam shrugged. "He's right about that part. I never should have let you talk me into going early."

Dean laughed at that. "Dude, you were raring to go. I was afraid that halfway through Thanksgiving dinner you'd go get another beer and never come back."

Sam's face took on a pink hue. "Well," he said in a small voice, "it was a clown."

They shared a good laugh before Sam went to retrieve Dean's breakfast. Yeah, Dean thought, he had it pretty good these days.

* * *

Sam brought Dean's empty breakfast dishes back down to the kitchen. He didn't bother speaking to Ella when he deposited the mess in the kitchen sink. If she didn't want to clean them, fine, he'd do it later. Sam went outside in search of his father.

The morning air was cool when it struck his bare face and neck. Cold morning sunlight, making up for its lack of warmth in brightness, made him squint as he walked through the salvage yard. He heard Dad and Bobby arguing before he reached them.

"Don't worry about it, Bobby. I'm handling it."

"Like hell you are," Bobby snapped. Sam didn't like the sound of this. "There's no telling how much brain damage that kid has, and you're taking him hunting? That's just plain irresponsible."

Sam paused in his trek across the yard. Bobby had a good point, one Sam hadn't really considered. Was this the reason Bobby had insisted on coming along?

"It doesn't matter," Dad shot back. "He's good, Bobby. You saw for yourself. Would you have thought to turn on the steam for the organ like that so we could see it? Would you?"

He heard a crash. One of them must have kicked something or thrown a tool. "Not the point, John."

"It is the point, Bobby," Dad sounded so quiet now, almost as if he were pleading. "Listen to me, he loves it. And he's good. Really good. I can't take it away from him; I won't. It would destroy him."

Sam forced his feet to take him closer, until he could peer into the area where they were restoring the Impala. Bobby walked right up to Dad and stood in his personal space. Sam was a little surprised Dad did not react.

"That's a load of crap and you know it, Winchester. The only thing that could destroy that boy would be losing you and Sam." Bobby shoved his stained trucker hat back. "Just promise me that won't happen, John. Look me in the eye and promise."

That did make Dad react. "Since when did you care about Dean?" Dad shoved Bobby a step back. "Who chased us off with a loaded shotgun?" he roared in Bobby's face.

Sam suddenly felt like a little kid sneaking up on fighting parents. A hard lump formed in his stomach and his breath caught in his chest.

Bobby's face hardened as he glared back at Dad. "Who warned me about how the kid gets past your defenses, and before you know it, you give a damn?"

Dad looked away. He let out a long breath before facing Bobby again. "So you give a damn, that it?" Dad sighed and shook his head. "You could've given a little warning, Bobby. Hell, I thought a loaded shotgun figured prominently in my future."

"Still might," Bobby shot back. "You haven't answered my question, Winchester."

Dad stared at Bobby for a long minute. "Sam won't disappear, Bobby. He's not like that."

"But you are. Is that right?" Bobby demanded.

Dad cleared his throat as he reached for the crumpled passenger door. "You gonna help with this door or what?"

"We're replacing the interior panel," Bobby replied, sounding thoroughly disgusted. "And I'm stocking up on rock salt cartridges for my shotgun." He sat on Dean's stool, motioning to Dad as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Go ahead. Get to work."

Sam cleared his throat as he reluctantly interrupted, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the fact they were shaking.

"About time," Dad stated in his normal voice. "Where's Dean? Plenty to do out here."

Sam locked his gaze on his father. "He's in bed, resting. Like he should be." He glanced over at Bobby. "If you really want him to go in and get checked out, I'll help you talk him into it." He cleared his throat again. "Anything I can help with out here?"

"You can help me pound out this door," Dad said as he dragged it near the workbench.

"Or you can go keep your brother occupied, so he doesn't do anything stupid," Bobby cut in with a harsh glare at Dad.

The hostility in the air made Sam's skin crawl. He backed up a few steps, hands deeper in his pockets. "Yeah, I can do that. I'll, uh, let you know when lunch is ready."

Sam beat a hasty retreat back to the house, where Ella shot him a dirty look over her shoulder from washing dishes in the kitchen sink. He paused, reconsidering his decision to come inside. Then Bobby's words came back to him, 'keep your brother occupied.' It was the first time Sam had heard Bobby refer to Dean as a Winchester.

"Ella!" Dean's voice bellowed.

She wiped her hands off on a towel, giving Sam a triumphant glower. "Coming," she called out lightly. Ella paused as she passed Sam. "He needs me," she said in a superior voice, though the fact she did it well outside of his reach was not lost on Sam. Her feet clomped up the stairs in her hurry.

Sam followed slowly, trying to convince himself the only reason Dean called for _her_ was because he knew Sam was outside. Yeah, that had to be it.

Sam eyed the top of the stairs apprehensively, unsure what he expected to find at the top. The way Dean had been talking last night, it was an almost word-for-word replay of one of their arguments. Was he remembering? Did Dean know about all the crap that happened to him as a kid? Sam paused at the top of the stairs. Why did Dean remembering disturb him this much? Wasn't this the reason he invited Ella here?

"I just think you should probably go home," Dean's voice reached Sam in the upstairs hall. "I mean, you don't want to lose your job."

"No, honey, it's fine. They understand," Ella argued in the sickly sweet voice which made Sam want to gag. "I told them I'm looking after my son who was in a car wreck."

Sam's stomach was in agreement with his throat now. In a moment his breakfast would be making a reappearance.

"Your son? Damn, Ella, I didn't know you could lie like that," Dean laughed.

Sam's back straightened, his stomach settled and a smile lit his face.

"But seriously, I'm fine here. Oh, and don't call me that other name again. It freaks Sam and Dad out," he said.

"You mean your name?" Ella demanded in a haughty voice. "Jerry?"

"The name is Dean," he replied in a hard voice. "I suggest you remember it. And unless you can figure out how to get along with Sam, you won't be seeing either of us any time soon. I'll ask Bobby to drive you to the airport."

"Fine!" she screamed.

Sam pressed his back against the wall, willing himself to be invisible. Ella came running out of Dean's room, tears trickling down her face. He doubted she noticed him as she made for the stairs. He waited until she was nearly downstairs before going into Dean's room.

Dean sat propped up against the headboard, both hands rubbing over his face.

"Dean?"

His hands dropped away. Damn, Dean looked tired. "You hear any of that?"

Sam sat on the end of Dean's bed. "Just the last part. So why are you sending her home?"

Dean leaned his head back until it rested against the headboard. "She doesn't belong here. Besides, I don't want her losing her job because of me." He chuckled. "It's not like I have a paying job so I could support her." The expressive eyerolls had Sam chuckling too.

"Want me to fill out some credit applications for her? She could be Lindsey Lohan," Sam offered with a grin.

Dean's laugh pierced the air. "You're reaching, dude. She wouldn't even be Cindy Crawford."

* * *

Ella's tear-streaked face made Dean feel guilty each time he glanced at her as they drove to the airport in Bobby's clunker, so he tried not to look. Bobby dropped them off and promised to drive back around to pick Dean up in a few minutes.

"I don't understand," Ella said in a near-hysterical voice as Dean guided her to the ticket counter. "Why are you taking their side? Jerry, honey, they aren't good for you! They're getting you hurt!"

He turned a hard glare on her. "It was a car accident, Ella. It wasn't like they beat me up."

She flinched at that. Hard. Dean watched curiously.

"When, Ella? When did I get beat up this bad?" Dean gestured to his still bruised face. She looked away, shaking her head. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her closer. "So I was beat up? When? When I lived with you?"

Fresh tears leaked from her eyes, which were already red-rimmed.

"Did..." his voice faltered. Dean cleared his throat, hoping it wouldn't betray him again. "Did you...?"

Her eyes widened in shock. "No!" She glanced around to see if her shout drew any attention. One shaking hand grasped his arm. "No, honey. It wasn't me," Ella said in a softer voice. "I'd better go. I'll, uh, I'll call you."

Dean watched her hurry away like she was being chased. "Might not have been you," he said to himself, "but you were there." He sighed as she disappeared around a corner. "No wonder Sam hates your guts."

Heavy feet took him back outside. Bobby's embarrassing clunker pulled up to the curb. Dean dropped into the passenger seat with a wince.

"You okay, boy?" Bobby asked, pulling back into airport traffic.

"I hate this car," he told the older man.

Bobby laughed at him. "Boy, you are the master of deflection. You know what I meant."

"Yeah, I know." Dean leaned back in the seat, resting his head against torn fabric. "You have a cool Chevelle under that tarp in the back. Need some help fixing it up?"

Bobby was quiet for a few moments. He broke it by clearing his throat. "Tell you what, let's get your beast up and runnin' first and then we'll talk."

Dean stared at Bobby's profile for a few seconds before asking, "So I can stay even after Dad takes off?"

Bobby shot him a guilty look which told him all he needed to know: Dad was planning on taking off.

"He's not plannin' on going anyplace while you're laid up," Bobby replied.

"Translation: Dad doesn't know where the demon is right now," Dean stated as all his hopes of them being a family, traveling and hunting together, flew right out the window. "But when he does..." he made a whistling noise as his hand shot out the open window.

"I never said that!" Bobby protested.

The ensuing silence was more than Dean could bear. "I'll go," he mumbled as they turned on the road toward Bobby's.

"What? You'll go where?" Bobby asked as the clunker slowed down to match the lower speed limit.

Dean forced his eyes to look to his left. "The doctor. Sam's been going on about it all morning. I'll go." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "If you want."

Bobby checked his watch as he drove. "We oughtta have just enough time to pick up Sam first."

Dean grinned at him. "Great. So I trade-in a mother-wanna-be for a mother-hen. Just my luck."

"Better than havin' Sam mad at me," Bobby said with a chuckle. "He ever tell you about the time he rearranged all the books in my house? I think he was about five."

Dean laughed, the action shifting his abused ribs. He wrapped an arm around his chest, noticing they were pulling up Bobby's drive. "How did you piss off a five year old Sam?"

Bobby grinned, his whiskered cheeks flaring out. "I think it had something to do with not buying the kind of cereal he liked."

Another laugh shot out of Dean. "Please," he hissed, "you gotta tell me what kind. C'mon, Bobby. Tell me."

Bobby's grin flashed on him. "Why? What're you plannin', boy?"

"You'll love it," Dean promised.

"Lucky Charms." Bobby shot him another grin. "And it better be good."


	25. Ch 25:Some Bobby Time

Yes, LWD is ba-a-ck! But, I have no idea where it needs to go, so I'm asking for some feedback. Leave it in a review or PM or email me (available from my profile page) about what you'd like to see. Several of you have been asking when this fic would make a return, but I can't decide where to take it. I do have one plotline in mind, but I think we need more than just that, don't you?

**Chapter 25**

Dean tried to wait patiently as the doctor pushed and prodded all his sore spots, but it took every ounce of will power he had not to deck him when he pressed against those sore ribs. That was right where the people-eater had slammed him into the wall.

"Well, doctor?" Sam asked anxiously. Freaking mother-hen.

The doctor, whose name Dean wasn't even going to pretend to remember, stared at him. "I'd have to say your uncle was right: too much, too soon."

"Meaning?" Sam demanded.

"Meaning," the doctor turned to look at Sam, "your brother now has several broken ribs to add to his list of injuries, which was already quite impressive."

"Can't believe they weren't already broken," Bobby mumbled.

"Me either," the doctor replied, flipping through several pages of his medical records. "How's the head?"

Dean shrugged. "Fine. Headache's mostly gone."

"Mostly?"

"Dude!" Dean pressed a hand to his temple. "That was in stereo!" And loud, too. Why the hell did Sam, Bobby and Doc No-Name all react the same way? "One at a time!"

Doc No-Name motioned for the others to be quiet, like that was going to work. "Dean, on a scale of one to ten, one being minimal and ten being the worst pain you've ever experienced, where does this headache fall?"

Dean chewed his lower lip to buy a couple of moments to think. "Maybe a three," he admitted.

"Dean!" Sam snapped.

"What?" He spread his hands wide. "Dude, on a normal day it's like a one or two. This isn't much worse."

"Constant headache?" No-name asked. "Well, that could be consistent with the head trauma, old and new. You had the headache before too?"

Dean pursed his lips as he thought about it. Everything before he met Dad was kind of in a haze. Some things he saw clearer than others, some not at all. "It seems like it."

The doctor tried to hide it, but Dean's answer seemed to startle him. Dean shot Sam a questioning look, but all he got back was a long sigh. Great, now he was being more trouble than he was worth. Figured. Story of his life.

"Kid has kind of a dangerous occupation, doc," Bobby was saying. "How long should he wait before going back to work, part-time?"

"What kind of dangerous occupation?" No-name asked.

"We're with the national park service," Sam answered. "We hunt wild animals responsible for human maulings."

"Really?" Doc No-name scratched along his jaw, brow creased so he could think harder. Dean found himself wondering what he looked like when he was thinking hard. Not that it mattered, Sammy was responsible for most of the heavy thinking. "Get many calls a year for that?"

"You'd be shocked," Bobby replied in a heavy voice.

"Well, with those ribs, I'd have to say at least two more months downtime. I can write out a work excuse if you need one," the doc offered.

Dean waved it off. "It's okay," he assured No-name, "they'll believe me."

Doc No-name frowned. "No, I think I'll write one anyway. I have a feeling you'd tell them two weeks."

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. "Not with these two around." He gestured to Sam and Bobby. "But I can still work on my car, right?"

"Work on your car?" the doctor demanded, and Dean got that oh-so-familiar sinking feeling. "Any heavy lifting involved in that?"

"My job," Sam said, raising his hand.

"Leaning over?" the doctor asked next.

"Guess that's where I come in," Bobby answered.

No-name smiled. "Well, as long as you're just supervising, I don't have a problem with it."

Dean almost explained how he intended to work on his car, but he thought better of it. The last thing he needed was Sam or Bobby being told to keep him in bed.

* * *

Sam didn't know whether to feel pissed off over Dean having broken ribs now, or relieved there wasn't anything more serious than just some ribs. He must have been too quiet about it, because Bobby poked him hard in the side. When Sam shot the older hunter a questioning look, Bobby nodded in Dean's direction. Dean looked a little pale, like he was holding up the weight of the world.

"So what's next?" Sam asked, trying to sound light and casual. "Are you planning to keep working on the engine, or do we move on to the interior? As I recall, I get some say in the upholstery."

Dean shrugged from the examination table. "Can we go now?" There was that little kid voice. Again. Sam had been learning to hate that sound.

"Come on, boy," Bobby said gruffly. "There's work to be done."

Dean slid slowly off the end of the table to follow Bobby out, with Sam on his heels. When Dean shot him an aggravated glare over his shoulder, Sam picked up his pace to walk beside his brother. Man that sounded good, having a big brother.

"We'll drop off this," Bobby held up the white paper with Dean's new prescription, "on the way home. I'll pick it up later, when I go for pizza."

"Pizza?" Sam asked, astounded. Since when had Bobby ever gone out for pizza? Ever?

"Unless the walking wounded wants somethin' else?" Bobby asked with a quick glance at Dean.

Dean didn't answer until Sam gave him a shove in the shoulder. "Oh, uh, just a sandwich is fine with me."

Bobby frowned, slowing to check for oncoming traffic. "Maybe you'll feel like pizza tomorrow, after these new meds have some time to work."

Dean shrugged, staring out the window. Was Dean behaving this way because Ella left? It had been Dean's idea, not his. Sam might have to convince her to come back, if Dean was going to be moody and sullen all the time. Oh, crap.

* * *

Bobby focused on the traffic so he wouldn't be tempted to look at the kid sitting to his right. Dean might physically be an adult, but thanks to his crappy childhood he was still in most respects just a kid. Now he was a kid living under the shadow of the threat of his father leaving him. Seeing the fear and desperation in Dean's face and actions was enough to gnaw at Bobby's insides, making him feel ill. John Winchester needed a serious ass-kicking.

Bobby didn't know all the details of Dean's life before meeting John, but he had a pretty good idea in general of the neglect. Apparently there had been physical abuse as well, judging by Sam's attitude towards Ella, though Bobby had a hard time imagining such a submissive woman abusing anyone. When Dean felt vulnerable, like now, he exuded the characteristics of a person who had suffered some type of abuse/neglect as a child.

"How about some movies?" Bobby suggested, spotting the video rental place and pulling in. "Just do me a favor?" He pulled into a parking space and shifted into park before turning to face the boys. "Don't let Sam get any of that emotional crap he likes."

Sam's expression soured but a thin smile appeared on Dean's face. "I'll try," Dean replied, "but you know what a princess he can be."

Bobby chuckled as Sam escaped out the door. He pulled out his wallet to hand over his membership card and some cash to Dean.

"Really?" Dean asked as he took it. "You actually rent movies?"

"I even own a dvd player," Bobby replied stiffly. "You act like I'm stuck in the last century."

Dean's smile widened. "More like the last, uh..." The smile dropped in favor of a creased brow. "You know, that word for a thousand years."

"Millennium," Bobby replied.

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's it." He sighed, casting a furtive glance to where Sam stood by the door to the video store, waiting for him. "I hate it when I can't remember stuff."

Bobby shrugged. "We all have our problems. Mine is named Winchester. Count yourself lucky." When Dean's gaze rested on him for a long moment, Bobby felt the need to clarify his statement. "As in John Winchester. Now get, before Sam comes back and drags you in by the scruff of your neck."

Dean's eyes rolled, but he opened the passenger door and stepped out slowly. Bobby had guessed there were a few broken ribs just by how careful the kid moved now, not jostling himself too much. The new pain pills ought to help out, but time and rest were usually best. Honestly, he was looking forward to working on the Impala with Dean again. The kid was a hell of a mechanic, much better than John. John told him once that he had owned a garage, but Bobby had a difficult time believing it. He took a few too many shortcuts for Bobby's tastes. Dean might be overly meticulous, but it was better than being half-assed.

After the boys were both in the video rental place, Bobby slid his new cell phone out of his pocket. He'd picked it up shortly after coming back from hunting with the Winchesters. Those poor kids needed to be able to call him after John disappeared. Speaking of which...

Bobby called John.

"What's the verdict, Bobby?" John asked, his breathing labored.

Bobby hoped the stubborn idgit at least felt a little guilty over planning to abandon these boys the first time the demon showed itself. "Broke some ribs when the rakshasa tossed him around."

"When was that?" John demanded. "I never saw it toss him around!"

"When he went in to ask about borrowing some brass knives. Wasn't his fault, John, none of us figured it was the blind guy," Bobby replied, realizing the fault for Dean being tossed around fell on his shoulders. He had been the one charged with watching Dean's back. "Does explain why a blind man was so good with those knives, though."

A dark chuckle came through the phone. "Guess that shoulda tipped us off, huh? Maybe the boys are right, we're slipping up in our old age."

"Speak for yourself," Bobby snapped. "Heard anything yet?"

John sighed and Bobby had a bad feeling. "Maybe. I've come up with a way of tracking, I'll show you when you get here. I think it's headed for the east coast. I'd rather not leave with Dean laid up and the car still in pieces, but..."

His voice trailed off and Bobby understood what the ass was asking. "They'll always be welcome to stay at my place, no matter how long."

"Bobby, you don't know how much I appreciate..."

"Shut up," he growled. "Just shut the hell up, Winchester. This is all your fault. You do know that." It wasn't a question, not really.

"I know," he sighed. "I'll make it up to them, Bobby."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "No, you won't. You can't. But you're too much of a stubborn jackass to see it. At least promise me you'll tell them, face-to-face. None of that sneaking off in the middle of the night crap."

The next sigh told Bobby that was exactly what John had been planning, no doubt because it would be easier on him. "Okay, Bobby. I promise."

Bobby let out the breath he had been holding on behalf of the boys. "Good. And you're responsible for dinner tonight." He hung up before John could protest.


	26. Ch 26:Surprises

Some of you thought I forgot about this one. I haven't! Hopefully the chapters will start posting regularly until it's concluded.

**Chapter 26: Surprises**

Dean could barely sleep, he was so excited. Sam's surprise still needed to be set up, but his little brother must have figured something was up because Dean hadn't been able to shake him off all day yesterday. It was still dark outside, but Dean couldn't possibly sleep any more.

Eyes pinned to Sam's still form, Dean slipped out of bed. Not daring to take the time to dress, Dean crept carefully out the door in his t-shirt and sweat pants. Bobby's upstairs could get a little chilly. He stuck by the wall as he headed downstairs, hoping the steps wouldn't creak too much.

When his feet hit the bottom floor, he still couldn't hear anything from upstairs so Dean assumed he had been able to successfully slip out. Yes! He headed for the backdoor when a clearing throat stopped him. Dean turned slowly to find Bobby sitting on the couch, sipping a cup of coffee and watching him.

"Going somewhere?" he demanded, voice rough.

Busted.

Dean's shoulders drooped as he owned up. "I, uh, just had something to do." He motioned weakly towards the door.

Bobby nodded as he stood. "I'll help." His flannel covered shoulders shrugged. "Can't sleep anyway."

Dean snagged his jacket by the door. "Okay, just keep quiet." He pointed up at the ceiling. "It's for Sam."

Bobby gave him a quick nod before following. Dean led the way outside. He wound through a number of the poor rusting stacked cars until he reached a mini-van that still had its doors. Dean pulled open the back door to reveal numerous grocery bags full of Sam's surprise.

Bobby laughed as he gathered as many as he could carry. "You do know Sam's gonna kill both of us?"

Dean beamed at the older man. "That's the plan."

* * *

Like clockwork, Sam opened his eyes as the first rays of sunlight struck his window. He laid there for several minutes, running through his morning list. It was Christmas morning, so he needed to take out the three small packages he had hidden in his duffel under his bed. Dean needed to take at least one pain pill this morning so he would be in a good mood since the stubborn bastard had a bad habit of not owning up to being in pain.

Speaking of... Sam sat up, prepared to toss a pillow over to wake Dean, but he wasn't there. Practically jumping out of bed, Sam pulled on the clean shirt he had waiting on the foot of his bed. He rushed to yank his jeans on next, stumbling in his haste. After removing the three small packages from his duffel and grabbing Dean's painkillers, Sam took the stairs two at a time.

Christmas had never been a big deal when he was a kid, except at Bobby's. Bobby had always had a tree and if Sam had been lucky enough to be here Christmas morning there were Santa gifts waiting for him. Usually he wasn't that lucky, but the next visit to Bobby's, even if it was in March, the gifts would still be there.

There was the tree, in the main room, with Dean, Bobby and Dad all sitting on the couch drinking coffee.

"There he is!" Dad called out.

"Get your beauty sleep, princess?" Dean asked with a broad smirk.

Sam sent the pill bottle flying at his brother. "Take one of those," he ordered.

Dean caught the bottle one handed before throwing him a nasty glare. "I'm fine."

Dad snorted. "You heard him, Dean. Take one." Then Dad chuckled. "It's the least you can do."

Now that didn't sound good. Sam's eyes scoured the room until his gaze hit a line of brightly colored boxes under the tree. What the hell? He passed the others to pick up one of the half dozen cereal boxes. Turning to face them with a scowl, Sam held up the Lucky Charms and asked, "Okay, who told Dean?"

Bobby chuckled, raising a hand. "That would be me."

Dean's beaming smile and the gleam in his eyes made this one of the best Christmases Sam could remember. That was, until he walked in the kitchen. Boxes of Lucky Charms lined the counter, end to end. Every cabinet he opened revealed a rainbow of marshmallow fun. How many freaking boxes were there? There was a creak behind him.

Sam spun around to find Dean watching him. "Very funny," he snapped.

Dean's grin broadened. "I thought so," he chuckled.

"You do know Bobby is going to make us eat all of this," Sam informed him.

Dean shrugged. "Well, he said it was better than you rearranging his whole library."

Sam rolled his eyes. "He's never going to let me live that down."

"Can you blame him?" Dean blew him a kiss. "Big boy?"

Sam's head dropped and he groaned. "Another thing I'll never live down."

Dean's laugh rang through the small kitchen. "Come on, handsome. How about some Christmas coffee?" Big brother poured a cup for him and pushed it in his hands.

"Don't call me that," Sam grumbled as he took the chipped mug.

"All right, Sammy," Dean told him with a clap to his shoulder. "Come on, before Dad starts to worry." Dean winked at him. "Don't want him getting any ideas, now do we?"

Sam moaned as he followed Dean back to the main room. Why did Dad want another son? Oh, yeah, because Dad just couldn't let go of anything. Sam took in the scene of Dean sitting on the sofa, patting the space beside him for Sam as he laughed at something Bobby said. Sam realized he and Dad had a lot in common; he didn't like letting go of things either. Sam settled in next to his big brother, their shoulders touching because this sofa wasn't all that big, and a comfortable feeling settled over him. Take Dean for example, neither one of them could give him up.

Dad and Bobby started telling all kinds of stories, some about Sam as a kid, some about reckless hunters they had known, and a few about stunts Dean had pulled when Sam wasn't around. It was shaping up to be Sam's favorite Christmas, despite the excessive boxes of kid's cereal in the house.

* * *

_One month later..._

The sound of his phone ringing woke him. Dean blinked up at the ceiling for a moment to get his bearings before grabbing his phone off the bedside table. He was still at Bobby's and the smell in the room meant they were doing laundry. Today.

Not bothering to look at his caller id, mainly because he wasn't sure his eyes would focus fast enough, Dean answered his phone. "Yeah?"

"Dean, don't get mad," Dad said quickly.

Oh, crap! He shoved himself up to a sit. "Dad? What's going on?"

"Listen to me, son," Dad said. "I've picked up the demon's trail. I think I can find out what it's up to this time. It isn't safe for you and Sam to be around me, or even for us to talk on the phone. I'll call when I know more."

"Dad..." Dean sighed heavily, seriously doubting he would hear from Dad any time soon. "Just be careful."

"And you take it easy," Dad insisted. "Listen to Sammy. He may be a pain in the ass, but it's because he cares."

Speaking of, did Sam have radar when it came to people talking about him? He walked in the room at nearly the exact moment Dad said his name.

"Yeah, I know," he admitted, watching Sam sit on the end of his bed.

"And see if you can figure out what's been eating him. He won't talk to me," Dad complained.

"Already working on it," Dean promised. "Hurry back, Dad."

"Bye, son."

"Dad?" Sam's eyes widened in alarm. "Why was Dad calling? Did he forget to ask you what you wanted from the store?"

Dean closed his cell and set it aside. "Nope. You know why he called."

Sam groaned loudly as he fell back on the bed. "Damn it."

Dean gave him a small kick in the side. "Dude, I'm shocked he hung out this long."

Sam's head rolled to the side. "You knew he was leaving? Really?"

"Duh." Dean shook his head at his little brother. "What? Were you riding his ass to stay?" Some red crept into Sam's face. Dean laughed at Sam's embarrassment. "Oh, come on, Sammy. I know you knew better."

Sam's eyes closed as his face scrunched up, like he was in pain. "Yeah, but I really didn't think he'd leave so soon."

"Soon?" Dean scoffed. "Dude, it's been almost two months. The last month Dad has been climbing the walls. If it weren't for the car, he wouldn't have stuck around this long."

Sam's expression soured as his eyes opened. "Dean, he wasn't sticking around because of the car. Dad didn't want to leave while you were recuperating." He sighed as he rolled on his side to face Dean. "I guess he decided you were well enough."

"Then I must be well enough to take over his part of the work." Dean swung his legs out of bed as he stretched. "So let's get to it."

"After breakfast," Sam insisted. "And I mean food, not just coffee."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Since when have I not eaten?"

"Since your stomach started bothering you two weeks ago," Sam replied, pushing up to a sit. "Not that you'll admit it."

Ah-ha. Here was the perfect opportunity, and Sam had given it to him. Maybe there was a God. "I'll make a deal with you, Sam. I'll fess up about anything bothering me physically, and tell a doctor about it, if you'll answer one question."

The suspicious trapped-in-a-corner look came over Sam's face. "What question?"

"Do we have a deal?" Dean demanded.

Sam chewed his lower lip nervously for a moment before giving Dean a slow nod. "And I can go call your doctor? The second we're done?"

"Yep." Dean mentally patted himself on the back.

Sam pulled his legs up, folding them against his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. "What is it?"

Dean watched his brother's insecure and defensive body language. Great. So much for there being an easy way to do this. "Sam, you've been moody for weeks now, and I'm pretty sure it isn't about the stupid oil cap. What's bugging you?"

Sam's entire body tensed, curling into a tighter ball than before. "Nothing," he insisted. "Can I go make that call now?"

Dean glared. "No. I want a real answer Sam. Now." When Sam did not answer right away, Dean decided to up the stakes. "Well, guess I'll go have my coffee now." He stood. "And nothing but."

Sam groaned as he rested his forehead against his knees. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat," Dean affirmed. He sat back on the edge of the bed. "Come on, Sam. Whatever it is, it can't be this bad."

Sam sighed as he lifted his eyes over his knees. "It's stupid," he mumbled into his legs.

Dean gave him a shove in the shoulder. "More stupid than me beating it out of you?"

A snort-chuckle came from behind those denim-clad legs. Sam stretched out, his long legs hanging over the edge of the bed. "You'd probably hurt yourself," he said, but he looked more relaxed.

"Does this mean I'm getting a real answer?" Dean asked.

He sighed again deeply. "It's really stupid. I've just, uh..." Sam shrugged. "Having Ella around kind of made me start thinking about my mother."

"Oh." Dean had no idea how to respond to this. He knew Sam's mother was dead and that she had died in some kind of horrific way, but he couldn't remember any details. Maybe he never knew the details.

"No, uh..." Sam chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "I didn't mean it like that. My mother died when I was a baby, I never knew her. I can't even remember the last time I thought about her." He ran a hand through the mop he called hair. "I mean, what we do? It's all about her, because of her. And how often do I even think of her? When I'm jealous because my big brother's stupid ex-foster mother is here." He rolled his eyes. "See? Stupid."

Oh.

"So you've been moody because you feel stupid about... not thinking of your mother?" Sam was weird. Boy, was he in the right family. Sam replied with a guilty nod.

Dean shrugged as he stood up. "Does she have a grave?"

"What?" Sam stared up at him for close to a full minute before answering. "Yeah. It's just a plot and a headstone, but yeah, she does. Why?"

Dean locked eyes with his little brother. "Feel up to a road trip? The Impala should be ready for a shake-down cruise in a few days."

"Wait. What?" Sam jumped to his feet. Some people might find Sammy a little intimidating, but Dean knew better. Well, honestly, other people should find Sam intimidating. Fortunately, he didn't need to.

"We'll need to give the Impala a real road test. While we're out, we might as well swing by her cemetery. You can tell her what you've been up to." He shrugged. "Leave some flowers."

Sam cleared his throat. His mouth opened a couple of times before any words came out. "I'm calling your doctor," he said softly as he reached into his pocket, his eyes dropping away from Dean's.

Who was the master of deflection? Sam the Man, that's who.

* * *

The Impala was gorgeous, Sam had to admit. He had been relieved when Dean allowed his car to leave the salvage yard for a few days to be painted. Now he had something to do! Sam was becoming pretty good at the detail work. If they ever made it to the point where they didn't have to hunt any more, assuming they managed to live so long, he could probably pick up spending money this way. Dean stuck by his promise to let Sam have some say in the upholstery, and Sam regretted it. He had decided to re-cover the seats himself to save money. What a bitch that had been, but now they looked better than ever.

Dean slipped behind the wheel and hit the key. There were grinding noises, then nothing. Undaunted, Dean popped the hood and hopped out. He was moving much better these days, but Sam could see his big brother still wasn't a hundred percent. Dean probably felt good enough to throw himself in the path of a ghost, but Sam wasn't ready to see him battered around yet.

"Sam!" Dean called out from the engine compartment. "Hit the key!"

Sam slid over to try the ignition again. It made the same grinding noise. Sam waited while Dean fiddled around some more.

"Again!" Dean shouted.

Sam twisted the key again and the engine roared to life. His head snapped up in shock as Dean slammed the hood closed. Dean's face beamed, the deep bruising having faded to a sickly light green, so he appeared almost normal. His big brother came back to slide behind the wheel with the same smile plastered across his face.

"Ready?" he demanded.

Sam grinned at Dean's good mood. "Ready!"

Dean stuck a hand out his open window to wave at Bobby before shifting into drive. Sam hoped they would be able to make it to the freeway today. After the rocky start, Sam was shocked when they made it to the interstate without any issues.

"The car will start after we stop, right?" Sam asked, casting a worried gaze on his brother.

Dean grinned and his eyes twinkled as he answered. "Worried, Sammy?"

"No, not worried," Sam protested. "Just, you know, concerned."

Dean chuckled as he shook his head. "Dude, I got it covered. Any tool we need is in the trunk. And the rest..." He tapped his temple with two fingers. "Right up here."

Sam nodded and relaxed in to the seat. He stretched his legs out, trying move into a comfortable position. There wasn't anything Dean couldn't do with a car, so why was he worried? Just because his brother's memory was full of holes didn't mean he couldn't remember how to get the car started. Besides, the engine sounded great.

Most likely he was focusing on the car as a way of distracting himself from the real issue. They were going to Mom's grave. That felt weird. Sam had no idea what to do when they arrived. Dean had suggested flowers. Good idea.

"Think we'll spot a place to buy flowers on the way?" Sam asked.

"Sure," Dean replied readily. "Every town at least has a little old lady on the corner selling roses."

Sam chuckled even as he stared anxiously ahead. "Yeah, you're right. Don't know what I'm worried about."

* * *

Dean watched Sam clutch the bouquet as he approached his mother's grave. Feeling like an interloper, Dean stood back while Sam laid the flowers next to her marker. Then Sam kneeled down on the ground, his lips moving as he began to talk. Not wanting to overhear anything, Dean directed his attention to the area around him. He checked out the graves around Sam's mother's, until he ran across one with a huge round dead spot.

"What the hell?" he muttered, tracing the dead outline. It was a perfect dead circle around one grave. None of the other graves had it. With a quick glance at Sam, who seemed caught up in talking to his mother's headstone, Dean headed for the caretaker's shack.

The caretaker was younger than he expected, maybe thirty, with a shaved head and wearing dark green heavy-duty pants and shirt. His heavy work boots clomped noisily along the path.

"Yeah, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?" Dean asked, easily keeping pace with the man's slow stride.

The guy shot him a suspicious glare. "Like special attention for a certain grave? Man, if I had a dollar for every time somebody asked me for that I'd be rich. You know, I ought to be taking bribes."

Dean shook his head. "Nah, nothing like that. See, I'm here with my brother and we're, uh, just visiting. Anyway, I noticed this other grave, near the one we're here to see, has a huge dead spot. What happened there? Your assistant spill some herbicide or something?"

The caretaker grimaced. "I wish. At least then I'd have an excuse. Man, I have no idea what happened there. A week ago it was perfectly fine. I tried putting in some turf, at least enough so it's not a perfect circle, and it died. Instantly. Damnedest thing I've ever seen." He shrugged. "I have an exterminator coming in end of the week."

"What for?" Dean asked.

"Bugs," the caretaker replied. "That's all I can figure it is. Something's killing that grass and we need to get it under control before it spreads. Most people don't take kindly to ground burns in cemeteries, so I'm hoping it doesn't come to that."

"Yeah, me too," Dean said hurriedly. "Thanks for your time."

He ran back to where he'd left Sam kneeling in the dirt only feet away from the dead spot. The supernatural evil dead spot. Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of Sammy still talking to the marble headstone. He forced his steps to slow, not to look rushed or worried, as he approached.

"...so I figure it's still a real sore spot with him, but you probably know that," Sam was saying. "I guess I can say Dad gave me a brother for Christmas, huh?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, really, I don't know. I'm not sure why exactly I'm here. I mean, you're the whole reason for this life, and I don't remember you."

Dean waited on the walk, regretting coming within hearing distance but unable to force himself further away.

Sam's long, lean hand reached out to gently trace the edge of the headstone. "We miss you, Mom. We're doing our best so this can't happen to anyone else." His hand rested flat against her name. "Love you."

Sam's head hung low for a moment, his hand still pressed against her name. Dean felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He felt a surge of relief when Sam stood up slowly, hoping this meant they would be leaving. Sam brushed by him, heading for the car. At first Dean followed slowly, still feeling like an intruder. Then Sam paused and shot him a strong look, like 'what the hell are you waiting for?' Dean tried not to look like he was rushing to catch up. When they walked side by side, Sam bumped his shoulder gently.

"Thanks," he said softly. "I think that helped."

Dean just nodded but on the inside he beamed with pride that he had been able to help out his little brother.

* * *

John Haynes watched Jerry and that tall guy walk slowly out of the cemetery. With a little persuasion, and a lot of lying, Ella had told him where to find Jerry. She actually believed he wanted to talk things out. The woman never had been very bright.

It had been damn near impossible to sneak on to the property where Jerry had been staying. That Singer jackass had chased him off several times with a shotgun, probably believing he was just after free parts. But when the car went to be painted, John had seized the opportunity. The general manager of the body shop had been more than happy to give him a tour and show off their latest projects, once John had hinted he worked for an auto dealer who was looking for someone new to repaint cars in need of 'freshening up' on their lot.

There the Impala had sat, on the far end. The GM had bragged about being one of the few places in town Singer would deal with. Apparently Singer Salvage had quite a reputation locally, which was rather odd for a salvage yard. John had managed to steer them over to the car. While the GM droned on and on about how flipping honest they were, John had slipped the black disc from his pocket and secured it in the passenger seat area of the car. The magnetic strip on the back kept it attached and, he hoped, would allow it to be painted over.

Clearly it had worked, because Haynes had been able to use the signal to follow them here. Wherever the hell 'here' was. He loved this tracking chip, it had allowed him to stay back a few miles, where he couldn't possibly be spotted, to follow Jerry. He would find Jerry alone, and then the damn kid would pay for breaking his jaw. Ten times over, he would pay.


	27. Ch 27:Revelations

Okay, here's a little update while I'm on vacation! Thanks again to _**charis-kalos **_for taking the time to play editor!!

**Chapter 27 - Revelations**

John Winchester pulled out his cell to select a well-used number. It was time to make his regular check on that bastard Jonathon Haynes.

When he hung up with Haynes' employer a few minutes later, he felt thoroughly rattled. The bastard had stopped showing up for work two weeks ago and no one had seen him since. That meant Haynes had been god-only-knew-where for at least two weeks. John stabbed at the speed dial for Bobby's house.

"Yeah?" Bobby's gruff voice indicated there was nothing wrong there. John allowed himself to relax a little.

"Hey, Bobby. How're the boys?" he asked, settling back into the truck seat.

A loud snort came through the phone, Bobby's commentary on his absence. John ignored it and hoped condemnation would be confined to just the snort. "Fine. Got that car up and runnin'. Ought to be back in a coupla days."

"Back?" John demanded as a chill crept slowly across his skin, tightening the muscles across his shoulder blades. "What do you mean, 'back'?"

"Dean called it a shake-down cruise," Bobby replied in an off-hand voice and John imagined he could hear the shrug through the phone. "I'm sure they woulda called if there'd been any trouble."

"Bobby," John struggled to keep the panic from his voice, "do you know where they went?"

"Not really," Bobby said slowly. "They were kind of vague about that, but I overheard Dean saying somethin' about Sam needin' flowers. Whatever the hell that's s'posed to mean."

"I don't suppose you know which way they were headed?" John demanded, his mind running through a hundred possibilities of where the boys might have been going.

"What's goin' on John?" Bobby snapped back. "What aren't ya tellin' me?"

John sighed as he ran a hand over his face. "Bobby, did either of the boys ever tell you why Dean's memory is so bad? And don't tell me you never noticed, because I know you have."

"I figured he was born like that," Bobby said slowly. "Why?"

* * *

Bobby barely allowed the phone to disconnect before he began dialing the next number. He waited anxiously as the ringing of the other phone buzzed in his ear.

"Bobby?" Sam asked lightly. "Miss us already? No, don't tell me, you need Dean's advice on whether or not to part out some piece-of-junk car you just picked up."

And since when had Sam been the teasing type?

"Is he there?" Bobby asked, hearing the gruffness in his own voice. "With you?"

"Nah," Sam replied slowly. "Dean said he had something to check out. He's obsessing about some dead spot he found."

The small hairs on the back of his neck stood straight out. "You mean he's alone? Right now?" Bobby demanded. "Where are ya?"

"Wait a minute," Sam said in a tone Bobby knew better than to try to argue with. "What's going on, Bobby? Since when are you worried about Dean doing a little research on his own?"

"Since I found out he's bein' stalked!" Bobby snapped. "Now git off your ass and go find 'im!"

"Stalked? Bobby, what the hell are you-" Sam broke off mid-sentence and there was a sound in the background, possibly a door being slammed.

"Sam, you're not gonna believe this," Dean's voice filtered through.

Bobby slumped forward on the hood of his Chevelle and breathed deeply in relief. "Gonna kill John Winchester," he mumbled into the dusty metal.

"There you are," Sam said in the same damn light voice he had answered the phone with. "Here. Bobby wants to talk to you."

"Really?" He heard a throat clearing. "Bobby? What's up?"

"Damn Winchesters are gonna be the end of me," he groaned in reply.

"Uh. Okay." The throat cleared again. "I don't suppose that's in reference to anything specific?"

"Beats the hell outta me," Bobby snapped as he adjusted his cap with one hand. "Listen up, boy. Does the name Jonathon Haynes mean anything to you?"

"Nope. Want me to ask Sam?" Dean asked, his puzzlement evident in his voice.

"If he doesn't say yes, I'm giving John Winchester the ass-kicking of a lifetime," Bobby replied stiffly, envisioning exactly how he planned to track John down. Demon, huh? That freaking demon was about to be the least of John's problems.

"Hang on," Dean told him.

Bobby strained to listen to the hushed whispers, but he couldn't make anything out until Sam spoke again.

"Bobby? What's going on?" Sam asked and his voice was dead-serious and all business.

"You ever heard of some guy named Jonathon Haynes?" Bobby demanded.

There was a long pause before Sam answered, his tone hard, "Yeah, I have. What about him?"

By the tone Bobby knew John hadn't been jerking him around with this one. "He hasn't shown up for work in about two weeks."

"Damn," Sam breathed. "I take it Dad called." It wasn't a question, not really. "Maybe we should head back, Bobby."

"Sam!" He could hear Dean's protests. "We gotta check this out. I'm telling you."

Sam groaned into the phone. "Just our luck. Dean found a hunt. Bobby, do you know anybody out here who can take it?"

Bobby stared unseeing at a stack of cars. Sam was trying to turn down a hunt Dean found? He had a feeling that wasn't going to go over real well. "Where is 'here'?"

* * *

In his panic, the name of the town where Dean and Sam were had not registered, not until John passed the sign welcoming him. This was where Mary's grave was. He had to pull off the road to catch his breath. Damn. This whole 'revelations without warning' thing really sucked.

John rubbed his hands over his face a couple of times before staring ahead at the road. Haynes could be here someplace, following his sons. The sharp pain in his chest had better be gas, he didn't have time for a heart attack right now. Crap. With a deep breath, John shoved his truck back in to drive.

His phone went off as he neared the motel where the boys were supposed to be staying. It was Bobby. "What?"

"Don't what me, Winchester," Bobby snapped. "Where are you?"

"About a block away from the motel," John admitted.

"Really? That was quick." Bobby cleared his throat. "Maybe I should head out there too."

"Bobby, I got this. Honest," John promised. "If there are any problems, I'll call."

"You better," Bobby threatened, "or I'll hunt your ass down myself."

John found himself snorting loudly. "You'll try."

"John? One more question."

"Yeah?" John rolled his eyes as he pulled into the parking lot of the motel where the boys were supposed to be staying.

"Dean didn't recognize the bastard's name," Bobby told him.

"Well, he doesn't remember his former foster mother either, so it's not a real big surprise," John replied, shoving the truck into park.

"But, that means he probably wouldn't recognize his face either," Bobby continued.

"So?" John demanded. Was Bobby going to harp on about the amnesia stuff like Sam now?

"So," Bobby said slowly, like John was dense, "it means the bastard could get the drop on Dean without even tryin'."

His shoulders tightened up again and all the little hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. John thought he might be sick, right there in the parking lot. "Later, Bobby," he snapped before terminating the call.

* * *

Dean sat on the edge of his bed staring at his brother. "What's going on, Sam? You're acting weird."

Sam's bottom lip disappeared under his front teeth and he chewed on the fleshy part. "Dean," he started slowly in the tone that set Dean's teeth on edge, "there are a few things you've forgotten that might be, uh, dangerous. For you."

Dean studied his little brother for a moment. If it were this important, surely he would remember it. "Like what?"

Sam chewed on his lip again looking real guilty. Dean was ready to press harder when a heavy knock sounded on their door. They both jumped at the sound. Then Sam chuckled nervously, the way he sounded when he thought Dean was going to be seriously pissed.

"Probably housekeeping. I'll get it." Dean noticed Sam check his piece before answering the door, though. Housekeeping his ass. "Dad?"

Dean's attention snapped to the door, riveted to the large man walking into their room. What the hell was Dad doing here? He stood slowly, most of the strength in his legs gone. Was there something so horrible in his past it could drag Dad away from hunting The Demon? What could be that bad? Had he killed someone? Surely he would remember if he were a murderer.

Dad gave Sam a one-armed hug as he passed, barely pausing in his trek across the room. Sam had the door closed and locked before Dad reached him. Dean swallowed hard, wondering how much trouble he was in. Then Dad pulled him into the biggest bear hug Dean had ever experienced.

When Dad pulled away, he still clutched Dean by the shoulders with his strong hands. "Son? Have you noticed anybody following you? Maybe the same face showing up around town?"

Confused, Dean shot a questioning look in Sam's direction, but little brother had the same intent expression as Dad.

"Uh, no," he replied slowly as he shifted his gaze back to Dad's heavily stubbled face. He looked like he hadn't had a shower in days. "Dad, what's going on? Why are you here?"

A pained expression flashed over Dad's face, quick but Dean was sure he saw it. "You're in danger, son."

"From what?" Dean asked slowly, pretty certain he was not going to like the answer.

"I, uh, was just coming to that," Sam said from over Dad's shoulder.

Dad shook his head and took a real deep breath. "Maybe you should sit down for this one, Dean."

* * *

Sam could pinpoint the exact moment Dean's 'this is bullshit' emotional wall slammed down. It happened between 'Ella, your foster mother' and 'coma for three days'. His eyes rolled all the way into his head and he heaved a long suffering sigh.

"Jesus, Dad, don't you think I'd remember something like that?" Dean demanded.

"No," Sam put in. "When you woke up from that coma, you didn't even remember Ella."

A thoughtful expression crossed Dean's face. "Is that why she was so upset when she came to see us?"

"You," Dad interjected. "She came to see you, not us." He glanced back at Sam. "I don't think she cares much for us."

Sam chuckled until Dean shot him a nasty look. "You said something to her, didn't you?"

Both hands up in unequivocal surrender, Sam shook his head emphatically. "I swear, Dean, I didn't say a single mean word to her at Bobby's."

Dean's head tilted to one side as he studied Sam. "Before Bobby's?" he asked suspiciously.

Sam sighed in defeat. "I might have dropped by her place once. For a couple of minutes."

"Well, that would explain it," Dean began as he squared his shoulders, a sure sign this was going to be a fight coming and going. "Look, I know I was beat up when I lived with her, and that Ella was there and she didn't, or couldn't, stop it. But I don't know about this coma crap." He gestured to himself. "Dad, I'm not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself."

"Dean, son, I just..." Dad shook his head and ran a hand over his face, which looked more tired and worn than Sam had ever remembered. He moved to stand right in front of Dean to rest his hands on Dean's shoulders. "You'll always be a kid to me. It's just the way parents are. We worry."

The little-boy look came over Dean's face again. It usually made Sam cringe but not this time. This time Dean did not look lost, he looked like he felt safe and comfortable. "Yeah?"

Dad smiled at him. "Yeah. So what's so important you won't leave this dump?"

Now Dean's eyes sparkled with pride. "I found a hunt."

* * *

Bobby swore that if Adam and Eve had known some of their progeny would turn into Winchesters, there would be no human race. He couldn't, for the life of him, contact a single one of them on any of their cell phones. So either they were all hunting together, which seemed unlikely with Dean's stalker unaccounted for, or the guy had them all, which appeared even less likely. But the fact remained that Bobby didn't know.

Cursing a blue streak, he loaded up his pickup with enough clothes to last him a week and enough firepower to take down a pack of grizzlies. He was heading back to lock up the house when a stray breeze blew the loose tarp off the hood of his Chevelle. Bobby paused beside it, recalling Dean offering to help him restore it. Actually, Dean had just offered to 'get it running', but Bobby knew it meant a full restoration. As he reached for the tarp, his cell phone went off.

Bobby yanked the contraption out of his pocket in record time. It was Dean. Well, it was someone calling from Dean's phone, at any rate. He jabbed at the button to take the call before pressing it against his ear.

"Dean?" he demanded.

"Hey, Bobby. We were wondering if you knew anything about zombies?" Bobby slouched in relief over the hood, in nearly the exact same position he had been in this morning when he had called Sam.

"Zombies?" he asked weakly. God-damned Winchesters were going to be the death of him.

"Yeah. Sam says there's too much lore about them, so we're having trouble figuring out how to... Dude, are you all right? You don't sound too good."

Only then did Bobby realize he was breathing too hard, too fast. "Just a minute." Bobby slid down to sit on the ground, leaning against the car. "Ya caught me exercising, that's all."

Dean snorted through the phone. "Yeah, right. I'd buy ex**or**cising before I bought that."

"None of you Winchester idjits is answering your phone!" Bobby barked at him, his frustration and anger flowing out.

"We're not? Hang on." He heard Dean's voice in the background. "Dad. Sam. Are your phones on?"

"Mine's dead," a deep male voice, probably John, replied.

"My battery was low, so I had it off," Sam said.

Bobby peered up into the sky and whispered, "Just a little help here? Is it really too much to ask?"

"Hey, Bobby? I guess you're right. Dad's is dead, Sam's was almost dead, and I forgot to turn mine back on from earlier. Why? What happened?" There was a pause, but Bobby couldn't answer so he sat there trying to catch his breath. "Were you worried?" Dean asked in the teasing tone usually reserved for Sam.

"Just...leave 'em on," Bobby managed to reply in a weak voice.

"Breathe, dude," Dean said in a sterner tone. "Do we need to call an ambulance for you?"

Bobby cradled his head in one hand as he closed his eyes. "Just tell me about this zombie thing, kid, before I load up my shotgun."

"You are sitting down?" Dean demanded, unphased by the threat. Guess it was too late to pretend he could still bully the 'adopted' one around.

"Yeah," Bobby sighed.

"Well, it all started with this dead spot in the cemetery," Dean began. Bobby settled in to listen intently, still wondering if he ought to make the trip.


End file.
